


The Statue

by PixelByPixel



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Brett is a good detective, Canon-Typical Violence, Foggy Nelson Is a Good Bro, Frank and Matt have that same argument, Frank remembers his past, Gen, I'm Sorry, Including a dog, Marvel TV Bang, Matt Murdock & Foggy Nelson Friendship, Matt and Maggie forming a relationship, Matt is better with kids than he thinks he is, Mentioned: Elektra, Mentioned: Stick, Offscreen Deaths, Original Character(s), nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-01-12 05:39:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18440171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel
Summary: When a statue at a school for blind children appears to be crying blood, who better to call than Matt Murdock?





	1. Mary weeps

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [titC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC) for marvelous beta skills, hand-holding, and general commiserating about why I thought that writing so many words was going to be possible. (Turns out, it was! Go figure.)
> 
> This fills my [Daredevil Bingo](http://daredevilbingo.tumblr.com/) prompt "we have a mutual friend."
> 
> Lovely art for the title and chapter 3 provided by [angelfirevt](https://angelfirevt.tumblr.com/). Be sure to click for [bigger images](https://angelfirevt.tumblr.com/post/184621164463/art-for-pixelbypixelfanfics-marvel-tv-bang). Thank you!

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/b3c6e00e74b8b3489ffca31fbcf4bb37/tumblr_pqwgetei6W1uxpmwuo2_1280.png)  
  
[image is of a statue weeping blood]  


* * *

Of course, the new students never ask about the statue. It is tucked away in an alcove where they are unlikely to encounter it. It sometimes gives parents pause during tours, and new teachers usually have a moment of confusion when they see it.

Alex understands. Who would be expecting a gigantic statue of a woman in a school lobby? Even if they don't know that it's the Blessed Virgin, it's still kind of an odd thing to see.

"This place used to be a Catholic school," Alex always explains. "We kept the statue, kept the name too." The name thing confuses people sometimes since the school is now without church affiliation, but it had seemed like too much of a bother to change it when people were already familiar with the old name. And, well, it's appropriate, though Alex has no idea why the original school administration had chosen to name it for the patron saint of the blind.

She's also been known to say, "That statue is too big. We couldn't figure out how to get it out."

People understand because the statue _is_ huge. They probably couldn't get it out without taking out part of the wall or breaking up the statue, and nobody wants to do either of those things. Especially not damaging the statue. Alex can only imagine the reaction, though now she wishes that the nuns had taken the statue with them when they left.

For some of the families, it's a comfort. After all, people aren't coming to this particular school because their lives have been sunshine and roses. Even the little ones, for whom being blind is just a part of life, haven't necessarily had it easy.

So Mary watches over the students and is just a normal part of the school. The kids who have been around for a while usually find out about her, and some of them touch her robes when they have an exam or something else important happening in their lives. They accept her as just another part of the strangeness that is life.

And it isn't like there are even that many kids to worry about anymore. Mainstreaming is more and more common these days, and Alex is glad of that. Not that she wants the school to close, not after all her time here, but her kids are going to have to live in the real world. So the school is an oasis of sorts, where they learn what they need to get by, along with reading and math, science and history, art and music.

Then they go out into the world. Sometimes they come back to visit, but usually, Alex never sees them again. Once they leave, they tend to move on. The ones that come back rarely mention the statue, but Alex has seen them brush fingers along Mary's robe as they pass it. They remember her, even if they don't say anything. Alex suspects that they have built up their own superstitions around her, passed on from old students to new, but in the end, Mary _is_ just a statue.

When it happened, of course, it was a new teacher who saw, and of course, he was a devout Catholic, and so trumpeted it to the world. Alex really wishes that he'd just kept his mouth shut and gotten someone to clean it up. The last thing the school needs is a bunch of priests and reporters coming around making a fuss, distracting the kids. After all, the kids finally seem to be bouncing back from young Liam's death. They deserve a break, not the chaos that will inevitably result.

Honestly, Alex herself has barely bounced back from Liam's death. He was such a sweet child. But the flu was particularly bad last season and Liam got it despite being vaccinated. Of course, nobody expected it to hit him so hard.

Alex just wants some peace for her kids. Once she heard what happened, though, Alex knew it was going to be a big deal. After all, when a statue of the Blessed Virgin weeps what looks suspiciously like blood, people are going to take notice.

Alex is pretty sure it was just some neighborhood kids playing a prank, which she would have told her employee if he had bothered to come to her first.

He hadn't, though, and now the school is in an uproar, all over a silly prank.

It's _just a statue_. But nobody will believe Alex. Not now.

* * *

Brett Mahoney has his cop face on: patient, but a little blank. It's the face of a man who isn't going to take any shit. He pretends to listen to the teacher ramble through his spiel for the fourth time, though really he's just got half an ear out for words the guy hadn't said before. Mostly he's thinking about dinner tonight. He said he'd swing by his mother's place and if this teacher, who really doesn't look much older than his students, can't come up with something useful, he'd rather just get going.

Sure, the statue is there, and it's got what looks like blood on its face, and the teacher is well and truly freaked out about it. "You have to test it," he keeps saying. "It's a miracle!"

Brett goes to church, but he usually spends _that_ time thinking about dinner, too. This sort of thing is really not in his wheelhouse, and he wonders just who he pissed off to get this assignment. "Okay," he says, more to get the teacher to shut up than anything else. "We can get forensics out here to check it out. Can you make sure nobody touches it?"

He directs that last to the school principal, a tired-looking older woman who seems like she, too, would rather be at dinner.

"Of course," she replies. Alex, that's her name. Alex Martinez. "Do you know how long it'll be? We'd really like to get things back to normal. All this fuss isn't good for the children."

Brett says something vague and then gets on the horn with Collins. She owes him, and is just religious enough not to make wisecracks, but not so much that she'll add to the fuss. He asks her to rush things, for the kids, and sees the principal give a pleased nod.

"Did anybody notice anything out of the ordinary?" he asks again, though this time to Ms. Martinez. "I mean, besides the statue."

She shakes her head. "I can only speak for myself, though I guess you'll want to talk to the other teachers. Some have already left for the day."

He does, though nobody has anything particularly useful to say. One of the older teachers is sure that the students know something they aren't saying, and Brett wonders if she has tenure, if that’s even a thing for this sort of school. She doesn't seem happy working with the kids, that's for sure.

He should probably talk to the kids, though he’d honestly rather hear the teacher’s spiel for the fifth time. When he speaks to Ms. Martinez about it, she shakes her head. "You're welcome to talk to them, though we'll need to check with their parents first."

"Don't worry about it," Brett reassures, glad for the reprieve. "Let's wait and see what Collins has to say, and go from there."

Then, finally, he can leave and go eat. Collins is getting to work as he's on his way out, and he figures that whoever put him on the job lit a fire under her as well.

Great.

The report comes in the next day, and he calls Collins to double-check. "You're sure?"

"Ran it twice."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Brett sighs. He's going to have to go back to the school.

* * *

Foggy Nelson is having a pretty good day. He just kicked some ass in court, much to the delight of both his clients and his partners. With Matt and Karen handling the last of the paperwork, Foggy is all set to take a well-deserved afternoon off. Maybe he'll hit the batting cages, or maybe just go take a nap.

And so when he spots Brett Mahoney in the hallway, he greets his friend cheerfully. Brett has that tense look of someone who has had a difficult few days, and who else but Foggy Nelson, lawyer extraordinaire, ray of sunshine, to cheer him up?

"Yeah, no," Brett says, shaking his head. "Don't do that."

"Come on. Look how nice it is outside. I was going to go hit the batting cages." At least, now he is. He isn't about to admit his nap-related thoughts to Brett, not when that's likely to result in commentary about lawyers and cushy jobs.

Brett shakes his head again, or maybe he never stopped. "The shit has kind of hit the fan for this case I'm on. Or, well, it hasn't hit the fan yet, but it's going to, and I'm trying to figure out how to _contain_ the shit."

"Sounds like a shitty day."

And Foggy gives Brett what can only be described as a shit-eating grin. From the look of annoyance that crosses Brett's face, Foggy can tell that Brett knows that's how Foggy is mentally describing his own facial expression.

"Nah, sorry," Foggy relents. "I'd offer to help, but you know. Lawyer, detective, we kind of work in different spheres."

"Funny you should mention that."

"Oh, hey, could you be asking me for a _favor_ of some sort?" And Foggy grins again, unable to help himself. Brett coming to him for help is just the icing on the cake that is this glorious day.

But then Brett explains, and Foggy feels his good mood fading. "That's messed up," he says, and Brett nods, his expression grim.

"We don't know what's going on or how it happened, but we need to figure it out."

"Well, yeah," Foggy agrees. "I mean, it's a school. There are kids there."

Brett gives Foggy a look that suggests that maybe he isn't entirely certain how Foggy made it through law school when he's making obvious statements like that. "Yes. And you have to keep this quiet. The press knows about the statue, thanks to some loudmouth teacher, but they can't find out about the rest."

Foggy knows what he means. "I won't tell Karen. I mean, she'd probably be able to keep it to herself, but there's the whole former journalist thing. Better not to tempt her. But are you sure that you want to involve Matt?" Foggy hesitates, then says it. "What with everything that happened, he's a little..."

"I know, and I'm telling you, I don't know what else to do. Maybe the kids know something. Maybe they'll talk to him. We're pursuing every angle, but right now there just aren't a lot of angles left."

Foggy sighs, his thoughts of a relaxing afternoon vanishing. "Let me guess, you want me to talk to him for you."

"Well, you know him a lot better than I do, and you could..."

"Manipulate him into it? No, Brett, he'll do it. He'll argue at first, but then he'll agree."

Foggy's pretty sure that's how it will go, at least, but with Matt's moods, it may all blow up in his face. Brett is right, though. Who better to deal with blind kids and weird, Catholic, pseudo-supernatural shit than Matthew Murdock?

* * *

It is with some trepidation that Foggy knocks on Matt's door that evening. He's waited until Matt is likely to be home, and then texted that he was going to stop by. On his way, he considered and then discarded several different bribes, most of which involved food or alcohol.

Hearing Matt call something from inside the apartment, Foggy tries the door and then goes in.

"Thought you were going to do something fun," Matt says as Foggy closes the door behind him. He's changed out of his suit, and he looks almost relaxed.

Foggy nearly turns around and leaves, as what he's got to say will likely destroy any peace that Matt has managed to find. "Yeah, thought I was going to, but then I ran into Brett and he asked me for a favor."

Matt nods, his expression a little rueful. "Too bad, man. What did he want you to do?"

"Actually," Foggy says, managing not to grimace as he sits on the couch, "It's what he wants _you_ to do. There's, uh, a statue of Mary that's crying blood."

Matt just stands there, his expression baffled. "Actual blood?"

"Yeah," Foggy says, nodding. He's never quite trained himself out of physical responses around Matt, though he tries to give verbal cues, too. "Somebody in forensics tested it. They thought it was just going to be a routine thing, that it was really fake blood or something, but that's not how it worked out. It, uh, matches the blood of a murder victim, a woman who used to teach at the school where the statue is."

Matt's expression grows tight, and he moves to the fridge, pulling out a beer. "Want one?"

"Yeah."

Matt grabs a second beer, brings both over, over and sits down next to Foggy. They drink in silence for a moment before Matt asks, his voice grim, "What does Brett want me to do?"

Foggy doesn't want to say it, but he thinks of the kids. "Like I said, the statue is at a school, and he's wondering if you'll go talk to the kids, see if they know anything."

Matt turns toward Foggy, mouth slightly agape. "And that's supposed to help? Foggy, I wasn't good with kids even when I _was_ a kid. Why does Brett think sending me will help?"

"Um, well. The school is Saint Lucy's. It's -"

But Foggy sees Matt's expression and knows that he doesn't have to explain what kind of school it is.

"Foggy."

Matt clearly doesn't want to do this. He turns away, but Foggy sees him gripping the beer bottle, his knuckles whitening.

"Matt, I know -"

"What do you know?" Matt demands, and Foggy falters in the face of his friend's tightly compressed anger.

Matt should let it out, Foggy thinks, but he's not sure if Matt could do that without breaking something, likely himself.

"Nothing, Matt. I just - look, if you really don't want to do it, I'll call Brett and tell him you can't." He means it, and he hopes that Matt can hear his sincerity.

Matt gets to his feet, moving with the energy of a coiled spring, and Foggy wishes he hadn't come, that he'd listened to that niggling little voice that said, _Leave Matt out of this._

Matt's still not talking, and Foggy drinks his beer just for something to do.

"It's okay," Foggy tries, and Matt turns, nodding.

"You didn't... look, don't say anything to Brett yet. I'll think about it. See if I can... I don't know. I'll tell you tomorrow. Can you put his number in my phone?”

He's looking grim and unhappy now, though, and Foggy feels like the biggest asshole on the planet even as he takes the phone and adds Brett’s number to the contacts. Matt's words are clearly a dismissal, but Foggy doesn't want to leave him like this. "Want to go grab something to eat?"

Matt shakes his head. Maybe he realizes how worried Foggy is, as he pulls on a vaguely pleasant look.

Foggy isn't fooled. It's like when Matt says he's fine: definitely not something Foggy can trust.

"Nah, go ahead. I'm going to go meet someone for a drink."

Meeting someone? A date? Matt hasn't mentioned anybody that way since everything went down - literally - at Midland Circle, and Foggy almost feels hopeful for his friend.

"Oh? Okay, sure. Have fun. I'll clear out, let you get ready."

He's pretty sure, despite what he told Brett, that Matt isn't going to help. Maybe Foggy will go instead. He's good with kids.

But for now, Foggy does as he said he would and clears out, not wanting to do anything to get between Matt and possible romance.


	2. A blind guy and a nun walk into a bar

Matt shakes his head as he closes the door behind Foggy, firmly shoving away all memories of Saint Lucy's, definitely not wanting to think about a former teacher, now dead.

Maybe he’ll think about it later, but just now he needs to focus on this evening.

He knows what Foggy thinks he meant, having recognized the eagerness in his friend's voice, and almost feels bad for letting him believe it.

Of course, it's not a date. He hasn't seen anyone since Elektra, and really feels no desire to. He'll occasionally meet up with Jessica for a beer when she thinks that, as she says, he's _going to grow into that disgusting couch if he sits there any longer_. It’s a friend thing; he doesn’t feel up to more.

Today, though, he isn’t seeing Jessica. No, he's meeting up with Maggie, and he doesn't really care to explain her to Foggy.

It's not that she's a secret; far from it. She's just his mother, whom he sees on a regular basis, and about whom he never talks to his friends. For all he knows, they know about her, but she's never come up in conversation.

Okay, maybe she's kind of a secret. It's just that Matt is still fumbling to build some sort of a relationship with her, and he's not sure where Foggy's enthusiasm - and Foggy _would_ be enthusiastic, he knows - would fit into that. Karen would ask questions and want to find out everything, and Matt is not sure that he's ready to know _everything_. He wants to find out slowly.

He remembers Foggy saying something about getting ready, and decides that possibly doing something about his hair is a good idea, and maybe wearing a jacket. Maggie has been good about not coming across as too maternal, but sometimes she'll make an aside that suggests that she's paying attention to things like hair and jackets and that one shirt that had a hole in the elbow. She offered to mend it, and when Matt expressed surprise, she replied, her voice gone crisp, "I've stitched you up often enough. Why not your shirts?"

Matt had let her mend the shirt.

So he pulls on a clean shirt and finds his jacket. No need to give her ammunition.

Matt had wanted to meet up for coffee, but Maggie had texted earlier and said something about a food drive at a nearby elementary school. She'd suggested they meet at a bar near the church, instead. Matt is pretty sure that a nun and a blind guy drinking together in a bar will draw some strange looks, but figures he won't see them anyway, so people can look as much as they want.

Matt runs a hand over his hair, makes sure that his sunglasses are on straight, grabs his cane, and heads out.

It's not even that he's nervous about seeing her, not anymore. Not really. But he does want her to think that he's capable of looking after himself, which he is. Mostly.

The bar is close, and he makes it there in good time. Hesitating in the doorway, he takes a moment to listen and to take in his surroundings.

Yes, there she is. She uses a detergent that he hasn't run across anywhere else, which makes her easy to find. Though, really, he'd be able to find Maggie anywhere.

He makes his way to join Maggie, his cane held up more to give people notice than out of any real need.

"Hey, how was the food drive?"

"Successful, for the most part."

She sounds tired. Matt eases into the chair next to her. There's a picture from Fogwell's where she's a novice - one of the boxers who remembers his dad described it to him, though of course he didn't know he was describing Matt's mother - and he can't even imagine it, her as a spitfire of a girl, younger than he is now. But when he was a kid, he never thought of his dad as any age than he was just then, couldn't imagine him as a kid scrapping in the streets, or even as a new father.

Maybe it's a parent-child thing. Or maybe it's the fact that he didn't grow up _with_ his parents, didn't get to see them change, to age as he aged. Maybe.

He and Elektra had talked about having children, of course, back when he was at Columbia. He'd imagined a bright-eyed boy with Elektra's spirit, a reckless girl who thrived on having parents such as Matt and Elektra. But that was impossible now, of course.

Of course.

He must have sighed, for Maggie says, "Sounds like you've had a tough day, too."

"No," Matt demurs. "It was okay. Foggy was great in court today. I just..." Someone comes to take his drink order, then, and he asks for whatever Maggie is having, grateful for the distraction, the time to collect himself. "What was Dad like, when you knew him?"

"Well, I never stopped knowing him," Maggie points out, though there's a smile in her voice. "But you mean when I first knew him?" Matt nods, and Maggie sighs, a long, drawn-out sound. "Well, he was gorgeous, but you don't want to hear about that."

"Thank you, no," Matt agrees, trying not to sound prim. But, really, he doesn't need to hear that about his parents.

"He had this energy about him," Maggie continues, her voice reflective. "Like he could take on the world and win, but he'd have to scramble to do it."

"That never changed."

"Maybe it's a Murdock thing. It was at that gym, Fogwell's, where I first saw him. He was fighting, didn't have anyone in his corner, and then there I was. I loved him as soon as I saw him, though it took me a while to figure that out."

"There's a picture, I think from that night. It used to be at Fogwell's."

The boxer had pressed it into Matt's hands, saying, "I know you can't see it, kid, but you should have it. Maybe show your kids their grandpa someday."

Matt had smiled and said thank you, and taken the picture, even though he knew there wouldn’t be any kids. Not any more.

"I'd love to see that," Maggie said. "I don't have many pictures from. Well. That time in my life."

Matt carefully doesn't ask if she has any pictures of him, not sure he wants to hear the answer. His drink comes then, and he sips it, and then tips his head at Maggie. "That's pretty strong."

"Yes, well, you try herding a bunch of elementary schoolers all day and see what kind of drink you want. And the parents, they're even worse."

Matt chuckles, but he can hear the uneasiness in his voice. "Yeah, no, kids, definitely not my thing. I don't envy you that."

"They tried to stay focused," Maggie allows. "But food drives aren't particularly interesting unless you're the one getting the food."

"No, probably not," Matt agrees. "But it needs to be done."

"It'll help a lot of people. I'm just glad that somebody else is dealing with them tomorrow."

Matt nods, nursing his drink. "Do you do a lot with the schools?"

"From time to time." There's the scrape of glass against wood as Maggie puts down her drink. "Mostly the Catholic schools, of course."

"Of course. So you, ah, don't have much to do with Saint Lucy's? It's not a Catholic school, despite the name."

Matt hears Maggie's breath catch, and it takes her a moment to reply. "That's the school for blind children, yes? I haven't, no, but I know where it is. Wasn't it a Catholic school at one time? Budget cuts, I think, and they had to sell the building."

"Something like that."

Matt wishes he hadn’t mentioned the school. He’s getting uneasy, and it probably shows.

There's one of those expectant silences. Matt is suddenly quite aware that Maggie is his mother, whatever that is coming to mean, and he resists the urge to tug at his collar. "So you got a lot of food at the drive?"

There's a small, amused sound from Maggie, one that says, _You're not getting away with that, Murdock_.

He eases back in the chair, for once not regretting his blindness; he can't see how she's looking at him, likely showing some combination of amusement and exasperation.

Seeing her in general, though, that's something he wishes he could do, just once. He hasn't asked to touch her face, as he has with other people. Maybe someday. He’s tried to imagine what she looks like, but nothing he comes up with in his head feels right.

"Oh, Matthew," she says, her tone unwontedly fond. "You are so like your father."

He's heard it before, though never quite like that. The older boxers from Fogwell's, the ones who are still around the neighborhood, will tell him he's a chip off the old block, and sometimes somebody who's known him since he was small will say he reminds them of Jack. "The way you carry yourself," a grandmotherly woman who accosted him at the bodega last month told him. "It's just like Jack."

It's different coming from Maggie, though. It means more. She had to have known his father better than anyone, at least at that time. Even Matt's memories of Jack are colored by childhood and hero-worship, and are likely not entirely accurate.

"Thank you," he says, feeling the rasp of his voice. He coughs, then has another drink.

There's another of those amused sounds. "Well, it wasn't entirely a compliment. He'd do that, too, when there was something he didn't want to talk about.”

"Do what?" he asks, and it's not just a deflection; he's honestly curious.

"That's not going to work, Matthew," Maggie chides. "What are you avoiding?"

"Well, I wasn't," he begins, but Maggie clears her throat.

"Just tell her, lad," suggests a man sitting at the bar behind them, who sounds like he's had a few more drinks than is entirely wise. "She'll give you a few Hail Marys and be done with it."

"She's not a priest," Matt replies, but the other man has already turned back to his drink.

Maggie is laughing at him, he's pretty sure.

"The school," he says, though reluctantly.

"Saint Lucy's," she prompts, as if she doesn't know it was the issue all along.

"Yes. Have you ever been there?"

She takes a moment before she answers. "Yes."

"So you know the statue that's in the atrium, that big Mary." Maggie makes a vaguely affirmative noise, and Matt continues, "Apparently the statue has been seen to cry blood. Or, at least, it had blood where tears would be."

Maggie doesn't say anything for a moment. "Has anyone been out to verify it?" she asks. "There are procedures. This happens from time to time, but it's usually not real."

"I don't know a lot of the details, but it sounds like a hoax. The blood matches a recent murder victim from the area."

"Oh, that's awful, Matthew. No wonder it's got you upset."

And, really, Matt could leave it at that. He could nod and say, sure, the violence of the situation, the use of a statue of Mary to perpetuate a sick prank, yes. That's it.

But he's trying. He's trying to be more open and honest with the important people in his life, though that niggling guilt over how he is keeping Maggie a secret from Foggy and Karen reminds him of how he is failing at that.

He sighs. "No, that's not all. Foggy's got a friend, Brett. They go way back, and he's a detective on the case. Brett asked Foggy to see if I would talk to the kids, to see if I can reach them any better."

There's another of those pauses from Maggie. When she does speak, it sounds like she's trying not to be judgemental. "You don't want to help?"

And now it's Matt's turn to hesitate over his answer. "I mean when you put it like that..."

"No, really," Maggie says, her voice careful. "If you don't want to go, you don't. But Matthew, why not? This seems unlike you."

For a moment, Matt flares with resentment: _How would you know what I'm like?_

But that's not fair, and he knows it. For the time that they have spent together, Maggie has made an effort to get to know him. Sometimes he thinks she knows more than she's letting on.

"Saint Lucy's... I went there. When I was a kid. After." He gestures vaguely toward his head.

"After the accident, yes." She's got one of her Nun Voices on: reassuring, compassionate.

Or maybe that's one of her Mom Voices. Matt's breath catches in his throat as he considers that.

"I don't know if I can handle going back there," he admits, and he feels her hand resting... well, not _on_ his, but right next to it.

"Aw, come on, Matthew," urges the drunk guy from earlier. "Do it for the kids."

Matt feels a sudden flash of anger at the man; his hand tightens around his drink, and Matt briefly considers some small act of violence. Not appropriate, but it would feel _good_.

"Mind your business, Malachy," Maggie snaps before Matt can even lean back in his chair.

"Yes, Sister." Malachy sounds stone-cold sober now, and Matt can hear the creak of his barstool as he gets to his feet and stumbles out of the bar.

"What did you do to him?" he asks, admiring despite himself.

"It's a nun thing. Violence isn't always the answer, Matthew."

Matt does hear the subtle reproof in her voice. Or maybe it isn't so subtle. "No," he agrees, "but sometimes it's really satisfying."

Maggie makes a sound, half a laugh, half a sigh. "You are your father's son."

"I am as God made me," Matt replies. His tone is perhaps too pious, as Maggie makes a small, derisive sound.

"Yes, but don't use that as an excuse to do something stupid," she chides. "Now. Saint Lucy's. Why don't you want to go back?"

"It was a difficult time," he admits. "A lot of adjustments. I didn't want to let Dad know, but it was hard. Lots to learn. Once I figured it out, I was fine, but right at first it was tough."

"And you're afraid that going back there will bring back some of those memories."

He shrugs. "Maybe. Also," he adds, trying to inject a note of humor, "The kids. I'm just not great with them. I'm not sure why Brett thinks I could help."

"Maybe you can't," Maggie says, her voice thoughtful. Matt straightens, wondering if she's really giving him an out. "Maybe the children don't know anything useful. Maybe they don't want to open up to a stranger. But think of the good _you_ could do them." His puzzlement must show, for Maggie adds, with a touch of amusement, "Matthew, you're blind."

"Wow, you don't say?"

"Like those children," she continues relentlessly as if he hadn't spoken. "Think about what it would do for them to see - speak to you, a successful attorney -"

"Well, successful is debatable, but at least we're not getting paid in pie anymore."

"- _a successful attorney_." There is enough steel in her voice that he considers neither argument nor further interruption.

That, he decides, is definitely a Mom Voice.

Maggie continues, "Who is blind, like them. Who went to that school, like them. When you were attending Saint Lucy's, did you have any idea that you could become a lawyer?"

He considers some quip, like, _No, I was still hoping to drive the big rigs_ , but decides that he has maybe pushed her enough. And she does have a point. He tries not to sound sullen as he replies, "No. Look," he adds, as she starts to speak once more. "I get what you’re saying. Going there could be helpful for the kids. I'm just not sure how it will be, going back."

"Likely strange, and uncomfortable," Maggie allows. There's a pause, and he hears the slight uptick in her heart rate, though her voice is all business as she adds, "I could go with you, if you like."

Well. Now he really can't say no. Not with that intake of breath as she waits, likely wondering if this was the time that she went too far. Goodness knows, Matt has wondered that on occasion, if some small confidence on his part has made her regret their relationship.

"That... that would be great. Yeah." Matt hears Maggie's exhalation, though it's quiet, and smiles. "I'll get in touch with Brett and let you know."

"You do that.”

So Matt will be returning to the former Catholic school where he learned how to navigate life as a blind person with his mother, the nun.

That's not going to be awkward at all.

* * *

Alex peers out the window, frowning. The man, presumably the person that detective wants to come to talk to her kids, has been standing on the steps for five minutes. He's not due for another five, but Alex wonders what in the world he's doing.

Is he lost?

By all accounts, he's successful, and has been in the world long enough that he should know how to enter a building, for goodness’ sake. If he's the person she thinks he is, he should, in fact, be familiar with this particular building.

Well, Alex can go greet him, and if he needs any help, she'll be there. She pulls on a sweater and makes her way to the front door.

Closer up, she can see the little boy he once was. He turns as she approaches, offering a smile that seems perhaps a little bit tense, so Alex speaks warmly as she gives his outstretched hand a firm shake.

"Matthew Murdock, as I live and breathe. Look at you. When that detective said who was coming, I wondered if it really was you." He's gotten taller, of course, and has grown into a snappy dresser. She likes that he's put on a nice suit for her kids, even though they won't see it. Matthew nods in response, though his vague smile suggests that he can't quite place her. Well, of course not. It's been so many years. "It's Alex Martinez," she adds, and his expression clears.

"Ms. Martinez, of course," he replies. He looks a little bit surprised, perhaps that she's still at the school after all this time. Sometimes she's surprised at how long it's been, herself. In her head, she's still the fresh-faced teacher she was thirty-odd years ago. Matthew continues, "Please, call me Matt. How are you? How's the school?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she replies, dismissing herself as not especially important in the grand scheme of things. "And the school, well, you know about the recent drama. At least there are fewer students than when you were here. Mainstreaming." She really is grateful that all this fuss with the statue didn’t happen a decade earlier when there were more students.

"Ah, yes, that makes sense."

"If you want to come in, I've let the students know that you're on your way. They're excited. We don't get that many alumni visitors."

Well, most of them are excited. There's a bit of skepticism that lawyers can be interesting, but it's something different for them to do in their day.

Or, as young Elise had said, "At least it's not math."

Matt looks reluctant, gesturing vaguely toward the street. "Oh, ah. I'm expecting..."

A nun comes down the street, sees Alex and Matthew waiting in the steps, and smiles as she approaches. "I know I'm not late." In fact, there was still time before Matt was due to arrive at the school, so if she was here to meet him she was early.

Huh. A nun. A little bit of a thing. She comes right up to them, and Matt smiles in her direction. Clearly, she was who he was expecting. How very odd.

The nun introduces herself as Maggie, but with all the stuff going on with the statue, Alex decides to stick with _Sister_. No need to tempt, well, anything.

After introducing herself in turn, Alex asks, "Were you here before, when it was still a Catholic school? You don't seem old enough."

What she doesn't ask is, _Why does Matthew Murdock come with his own personal nun?_ , but that's what she _really_ wants to know.

Sister Maggie laughs. "Ah, no. I wasn't. It was a bit before my time. I'm just here for moral support."

Alex makes a vague noise of acknowledgment and then turns toward the door. "Let's go in, shall we? We can stop by the statue and then go into the first classroom."

" _First_ classroom?"

Matthew looks a little startled by that, though Sister Maggie pats his arm in a gesture that looks reassuring.

Alex continues, "We thought you would talk to two classes and then have lunch with the kids." Alex worries that Matt looks like he's going to protest lunch. Did the nun just poke his ribs? Alex continues, "The more casual atmosphere in the cafeteria might give you a better chance to talk to the children."

"Oh," Matt says, absently rubbing at his side. "That makes sense, I guess."

Alex leads the way up the steps and opens the door. Once they are in the atrium, Sister Maggie stops and tips her head back to look at the statue.

"No blood," she relates, and Matt nods in acknowledgment.

"We cleaned it after the forensic people and the priests did their thing," Alex explains. "Some folks objected, but once they found out that the blood was from poor Marisa, I really didn't think it was appropriate."

"Of course, of course." Sister Maggie's voice is reassuring, as if she's picked up on the nun-related anxiety from Alex.

"Marisa?" Matt echoes, sounding startled. "You mean Miss West?"

"Mrs. DeLuca, but she used to be Miss West. You remember her?" After Matt's nod, Alex continues, "She retired last year after, well, some unpleasantness. We're all so sad that she's gone, well, permanently." She eyed Sister Maggie. "That is, not _permanently_. Um. Heaven."

Shaking her head at her own floundering, Alex leads the way to the hallway. She happens to be looking over her shoulder as Matt passes the statue, and sees him extend his hand to brush the edge of Mary's robe.

Well, he remembers that, too, though Alex isn't exactly surprised. After all, if he's bringing along a nun as his plus one, Matthew Murdock has clearly got some religion. She does seem to recall that he'd been fascinated with the Mary statue as a child, but then she doesn't think he had a mother, either. The motherless Catholics always seemed to be the ones the most consumed with Mary.

It makes sense, Alex supposes. But for now, she's more concerned with how the classes will behave, and whether the children actually know anything that might be useful to the police.

"I figured you'd talk a little bit about your experience, you know, as a lawyer," she tells Matt. "If the kids have questions, they'll raise their hands and speak their names, so you'll know who to call on." This seems to strike Sister Maggie as curious, so Alex explains, "One of our teachers is blind, and that's how it works for her, at least. The kids are used to it, and it helps them know who is raising a hand, too. It can get noisy if the class is particularly engaged, but that's not a bad thing."

"No, that's smart," Matt observes.

"You should get Karen and Foggy to do that," Sister Maggie suggests, though it sounds like she's joking.

Matt makes a small, amused sound. "That would suggest that they raise their hands, which they do not."

He's starting to look a little nervous, and so Alex reassures, as she comes to a stop outside the classroom door, "You'll be fine. Okay?"

"Okay," he agrees, pulling on a tense smile.

The kids won't see it, but Alex appreciates the effort.

She knocks lightly in the door, then opens it, saying, "Good morning, students, Miss Brown."

Of course, she glances at the back row, where Bart is sitting with his head pillowed on his folded arms. All the other students turn their heads in her direction. Most smile, and one or two call, "Good morning," but Bart doesn't lift his head. He's got his hood pulled up, and Alex suspects that he's got his headphones on under it. She's been trying to get some testing done through the nearby public school, which has more resources than Saint Lucy's, as she's certain Bart has something else going on besides his blindness. Sadly, the schools are pretty overwhelmed, and so while Bart has an appointment, it's not for a few months.

"Good morning, Ms. Martinez," Miss Brown replies. "Class, our special guest is here. Everybody say hello to Mr. Murdock."

There's a ragged chorus of hellos, and Alex introduces Sister Maggie as well. She comes fully into the room to let Matt and Sister Maggie enter, before moving to a seat at the back. Sister Maggie moves off to the side, leaving Matt front and center.

"Good morning, everyone," Matt says. He's looking a little less nervous, now, and sounds confident enough.

Catching a bit of motion out of the corner of her eye, Alex looks to one side and nearly does a double-take. Bart is sitting up, and all his attention seems to be focused on Matthew Murdock.

* * *

Matt doesn't know why he's nervous. He's stood in front of juries that were a lot scarier than a roomful of kids.

Well, probably. He hasn't actually been around kids all that much since he was one, and, as previously stated, that hadn't gone so well. When he was too small to stay home and the neighbors proved unreliable, he'd gone to the fights with his dad, armed with a blanket and a bag full of books. ("You read all them books?" one of the fighters had once asked. Yeah. He read all them books.) There weren’t a lot of other kids hanging out at Fogwell’s.

He'd gone with Foggy to an extended family holiday gathering their first year at Columbia, dragged there out of pity and, he later realized, revenge for some joke that Matt had already forgotten. The aunts and uncles were all nice enough, and Matt would have been perfectly content to let Foggy's grandparents adopt him, but the cousins' kids had been _fascinated_ by Matt. They'd crept behind him in such a way that had set his nerves jangling, until Foggy's grandmother had loudly asked to borrow Matt's cane "to teach some young folks some manners."

Thinking on it, Matt would rather be in front of a jury.

"Good morning, everyone," he greets the class, though he falters a little when Alex Martinez's heart rate spikes. He can't tell what just happened, and everything seems reasonably close to normal, so he goes on with his spiel.

Matt manages not to react when the hand goes up from someone in the second row; he can't tell what the person looks like, but the movement is obvious.

"Elise," comes the voice to go with the hand. "Elise."

He's almost glad for the interruption. "Yes, Elise?"

"Why'd you bring a nun?"

"Elise, that question doesn't have anything to do with what Mr. Murdock is saying." That's Miss Brown, off to his right and behind him, presumably sitting at her desk.

"But you said all questions are good questions," Elise persists.

Miss Brown exhales a very quiet sigh. The kids probably can't hear, and Matt bets she's smiling for Maggie and Alex's benefit, but he catches her muttered regret that her statement would come back and bite her in the ass, particularly in front of her boss.

"It's okay," Matt says, and he can almost feel the teacher's relief. "Sister Maggie is my -" His hesitation over the word is barely perceptible, but he's sure Maggie catches it. "- friend. She -"

"Nuns can be friends with regular people?" Elise interrupts. She must be Catholic.

Matt manages not to laugh. "Nuns _are_ regular people. I think." He'll probably pay for that later, but the kids giggle and he relaxes a little, so it's worth it. "But it's not a bad thing to take a friend with you when you go somewhere new."

"Yeah, but why a _nun_?" Elise persists. "Don't you have any normal friends?" Matt suddenly wonders what the reaction would have been if Frank had accompanied him, rather than Maggie. He’s not sure why that thought popped into his head; he hasn’t met up with Frank in a while. But if he had been the one to come along, the kids probably would not have noticed anything, and Alex might have been relieved. She seems to have something of a nun phobia. Matt understands that, really.

Frank would have liked the visit, Matt imagines. He's good with kids; he would want to pet the dogs, though of course he wouldn't, not while they're working. Matt hears at least three of them in the room; one is lying down next to Elise.

They'd wanted to get him a dog, had talked to his father and everything. But then had come the fight with Creel, and then Roscoe Sweeney. Matt's memories of the months after his father's death are something of a blur, but he didn't get a dog, and now the dog-feeling is kind of tied up with the loss of his father, and he's just as glad it didn't happen.

Maggie clears her throat, and Matt pulls his attention back to the conversation. "Ah, well, why not a nun? She wanted to come meet you all." Well, and to make sure Matt didn't duck out on the whole thing, something he is regretting he didn't do.

Matt gets back to his talk, which goes more or less smoothly. He does keep getting distracted by Alex's heart rate, which spikes every time she turns her head toward a kid near her, in the back. Matt tries to figure out why, but he doesn't notice anything odd about the kid, who is sitting up and apparently paying attention, though not asking any questions, thank goodness.

He focuses his attention on the kid at the back. A lot of the kids have the same detergent and such, so that won't help him find the kid later. Listening a little more carefully, he detects a faint wheeze when the kid breathes. Maybe asthma, maybe bronchitis. Matt, after all, is a lawyer, not a doctor. He will try to track the kid down later at - God help him - lunch.

Matt finishes up his talk, and the class applauds, which makes the kid at the back hunch down. The second talk goes smoothly, with far fewer questions.

"You did well," Maggie says, as they wait for Alex to have a few words with the second teacher. "The children really responded to you."

Matt mumbles something self-deprecating, though he feels a rush of pride at Maggie's approval. He remembers all those times he accomplished something and had nobody there just for him, nobody to say, _Well done_. A few talks for schoolchildren are nothing compared to his law degree, the cases he's won, but somehow they matter more, now.

"Hey," he adds, and he can almost feel the focus of Maggie's attention. "In that first room, did you see somebody sitting in the back?"

Maggie waits for a moment, and then sounds amused as she asks, "Could you be more specific, Matthew? There were a few students in the back row."

"Sitting at the far right," Matt clarifies, and he hears a soft ah from Maggie.

"I noticed him, yes. Ms. Martinez kept looking over at him as if he was behaving oddly, but he seemed all right."

Matt nods, but time for any further questions he has is lost when Alex returned to usher them to lunch.

Lunch.

Great.

"Do try not to look like you're being taken off for a beating," Maggie murmurs.

"Honestly?" Matt replies, just as quietly, "I think I'd prefer the beating."

Maggie laughs, and, really, Matt _is_ kidding. Mostly. He'd like to track down the child who had Alex so concerned, for curiosity's sake, and apparently he's supposed to find out if the kids know anything about the statue.

Because he's blind too, they're going to be best friends? Right. Matt's not sure what Brett was thinking, but he's here now. Maybe the food has improved since he was here as a boy.

* * *

The food has not improved. Matt can tell already, and he hasn't even tasted it yet.

Maybe he'll mention the school to Danny, see if he's feeling philanthropic. With a bigger budget, they can better help the kids, and if some of that funding ends up in the kitchen? Wonderful.

"Hey, the kid from the first class," he says to Maggie, brows lifting.

Maggie orients herself, then directs, "He's at your two o'clock, far back table, sitting by himself. Want me to come along?" Matt shakes his head, and Maggie continues, "Enjoy yourself. I'll meet up with you after. For now, I think I might go find young Elise."

Matt almost feels sorry for Elise. Tray balanced in one hand, cane swinging easily in the other, he makes his way toward the indicated table, listening for that faint wheeze as he goes.

"Mind if I sit here?"

The kid doesn't answer, but Matt hears the scrape of the chair being shoved out, so he sits.

"I'm Matt."

"I know." The words are flat, but the kid sounds young.

Matt tries a smile, knowing it will come out in his voice. "What's your name?"

The kid sighs. "Bart."

Matt brightens. "Oh, like -"

"No." The words are a slap, Bart's voice suddenly gone hard, with edges lurking beneath. "And if you say, _Don't have a cow_ , you can go sit somewhere else."

"What?" Matt tries very hard to find some way in which those words make sense but comes up blank. "Why would I say that?"

Bart's response is wary, the voice of one who has been mocked enough times to expect it as a given. "Because of _The Simpsons_. Bart Simpson. That's what you were going to say, right?"

"Sorry, that's not ringing a bell. I'm kind of out of touch, though."

"You're not _that_ old," Bart replies scornfully.

"Thank you? Seriously, what is it?"

"You're fu-" The sound changes as Bart turns his head, as if in response to a passing teacher. "Messing with me. Everybody knows _The Simpsons_. It's on Fox."

"Oh. TV? I don't watch a lot of TV. And, well, definitely not Fox. They canceled that show I like. Almost as bad as Netflix."

There's a snort from Bart's direction, but then he says, his voice gone soft enough that Matt has to _focus_ to pick his words out from the noise of the crowd, "What were you going to say? Bart like what?"

"Bartimaeus."

"Huh?"

Matt pokes at his food, trying to make it at least look like he has eaten, as he explains, "When Jesus and his disciples left Jericho, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus heard that he was there and called, 'Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.' Everybody told him to be quiet, but he kept it up until Jesus said that he should come. So he went over to Jesus, who asked what he wanted. Bartimaeus asked for Jesus to restore his sight, and Jesus said, 'Go, your faith has made you whole.' And then Bartimaeus could see."

Bart is silent for a moment. He's leaned closer; Matt can tell by the shift in his voice, the scrape of his chair. "That's bullshit."

"No, Mark. Chapter ten, verses forty-six to fifty-two, I think. There are blind people in Matthew, too, which I appreciate, but Mark has Bartimaeus."

"Okay, well if faith makes you whole, how come _you're_ still blind?"

That is not what Matt had been expecting Bart to get from the story. "Well, I haven't asked Jesus to heal me."

"You're lying." There's that scorn again. Bart hesitates, then adds, "He said you were religious. If you're _that_ religious, you would have asked Jesus or God or whoever to make you better."

Well. Of course he had, back when he was a kid like Bart. When he was still in the hospital, still reeling from the injury, he'd asked God to let him see again, or maybe that had been a dream. He'd remembered a woman telling him to rest easy, probably a nurse or something, and he'd gone back to sleep.

He'd still been blind when he woke up.

Of course.

"This is the path that God has chosen for me," Matt says. "But what do you mean, he said I was religious? Did somebody tell you about me, Bart?"

"Then God is a dick!" Bart scoots back in his chair, clearly preparing to take off.

Matt reaches out and grabs his wrist.

Bart... breaks the hold. Admittedly, Matt hadn't been hanging on to him too tightly, not wanting to hurt the kid; that's not the surprising part.

No, what makes Matt sit back and let the kid leave is the technique.

It's familiar.

And he doesn't want to think about why it's familiar, or how this kid knows it. It's a coincidence.

It has to be.

Matt tries not to give himself away, but he's pretty sure that Maggie has picked up that something is off. His heart pounds a little faster whenever he thinks of what must have happened, despite his denial.

 _It's not that unusual a technique_ , he tells himself.

In the depths of his mind, he can hear Elektra laughing at him.

He manages polite conversation with Alex Martinez as she escorts him and Maggie to the door. Yes, the children behaved well. Of course, he'll touch base with Detective Mahoney. It's only when Alex turns to leave that he clears his throat and asks, "That boy. Bart?"

"Oh, yes." He can hear the edge in Alex's voice: worry, and a bit of sorrow. "Did he say something he shouldn't have? He's had a difficult life. He's one of our boarders. We don't have many, but for some, the commute is too difficult. There aren't that many schools like ours in the area. Elise is another boarder," she adds, and her voice changes as she turns her head toward Maggie.

"Elise has some personality," Maggie replies, sounding amused.

"Did she say something _she_ shouldn't have?" Alex asks, resigned.

Matt persists, "Bart," and he hears Alex sigh.

"His parents died in the accident where he lost his sight. Tragic. It was about a year and a half ago. His guardian is his great-uncle, but he's elderly and can't visit, or even have Bart home, really."

"Did Bart have any visitors?" Matt asks, hardly daring to breathe. "Not recently, I mean. But since he came here?"

"Yes, I think it was a family friend who used to take him on outings not long after he came here. We encouraged it. Bart was so angry and really struggling, and the man seemed to be helping. But then he stopped coming, and Bart got... well, we're hoping to get him some therapy, but he still seems so angry and closed off."

Maggie clears her throat, but Matt doesn't turn his head in her direction.

"Poor boy," she says. "Was he wearing headphones? I thought I saw them under his hood."

There is a pause, and then Alex makes a soft, embarrassed sound. "Sorry. I nodded. You'd think I'd have learned, all these years in a school for the blind. It's easy to forget, I suppose. But yes, he wears them as much as he can. Not sure if he's even listening to music, though. I think he just wants to shut us out."

"Probably," Matt agrees. "Ah, no offense. But the world can be overwhelming sometimes."

"It certainly can. Well, thank you both for coming. It really was a treat for the children. Come back any time."

There are the usual polite murmurs of farewell, and Matt braces himself as he heads down the steps from the school.

"What about Bart?" Maggie asks. "Matthew," she prods, when he doesn't answer.

He doesn't want to talk about it, because he doesn't want to tell her what happened.

But, really, how could they not have noticed, back at the orphanage? He had changed; how could he not have? They had just let Stick take him. He'd wanted it at the time, but he'd been a child, with a child's judgment.

"Matthew," Maggie repeats, a bit more loudly.

"I heard you," Matthew says as they set off down the road. "I'm blind, not deaf."

"And yet you didn't answer."

"No. Bart is... troubled, I think. He's had a rough life."

"I did get that impression from what the principal said," Maggie agrees. She lets the silence drag out a little, then adds, "It seems like something more, from the way you were asking."

Matt sighs. "It was. But I'm... look, can I say I don't want to talk about it without it becoming a big thing?"

The silence from Maggie goes on long enough for Matt to decide that, yes, it is now a big thing. "It's not you," he adds, because it isn't, not really. He hopes she can hear his sincerity, though her soft exhalation suggests that she doesn't believe him.

"I'm not going to push you, Matthew. But if you do need to talk about it..."

"I know where you are," Matt confirms, trying to smooth the tension from his voice. They continue talking the rest of the way to the church, but their conversation is too restrained, too polite.

Talking about it, Matt decides, probably would have been worse. He listens for the creak of the door, then turns back toward his apartment.

He decides to call Brett the next day, as there is some work that he should do. At least, that's what he tells himself.

Instead, he spends an hour trying to focus enough to accomplish something before giving it up as a lost cause. After his attempt at meditation fails, he goes for a walk instead. He doesn't go near Saint Lucy's, something he later regrets.

When he tries to sleep that night, he hears Stick's voice in his head.


	3. The usual argument

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/2d3190d0d19eb9fd6dda1f1e9ba2a5f1/tumblr_pqwgetei6W1uxpmwuo1_1280.jpg)

[image is of Matt standing with one hand on the wall]

* * *

Matt has come to dread Saturdays. He can generally fill the work-week; Sundays have Mass in the mornings, and he has been finding himself spending Sunday afternoons with Maggie. Saturdays loom empty, though, and this one is no exception.

Knowing he shouldn't, he does what he has done on too many Saturdays: he takes a walk. That sounds innocuous enough, and they always start out that way, the rhythmic sound of his cane lulling him into a false sense of normalcy, but inevitably he finds himself drawn there.

Midland Circle is no longer the ruin it was on that day, but neither has any construction been done. Walls now hide the site from view; Danny called the day they went up to warn Matt that his company was investigating.

Matt is glad. He’s pretty sure the dragon fossils were all destroyed in the explosion, but he'd still rather that Danny be the one to find anything that might remain.

Matt rests one hand lightly against the wall and _listens_ , but no. He's not even sure what he's hoping to hear; he'd love to find Elektra alive and whole once more, but he certainly wouldn't wish her to have been trapped in whatever remains of Midland Circle.

No, he doesn't hear Elektra, but a familiar presence approaches. He listens, his hand on the wall now helping him focus on the world on this side of it, rather than whatever may be beyond it.

"Red? That you?"

It takes Matt a moment to place the voice, though it shouldn't. After all, how many people call him _Red_?

It's Frank Castle, of course. His heart tends to beat a little more slowly than average. When that heartbeat speeds up, well, watch out.

"Should have known I'd run into you here."

"Why?"

A quiet sound comes from Frank, not quite a laugh. "I used to go to the carousel where my family died. Not sure if it made me feel closer to them or just pissed me off."

Honestly, Matt still isn't sure what to feel about Elektra's death. Loss, of course; there is certainly that. And guilt; he is who he is. Pissed off? Yeah, maybe, at the whole damn situation. It seemed like every time he and Elektra got close to being in the same place for each other, something happened to derail them.

But he can't say any of that to Frank, so instead he shrugs, finally releasing the wall and turning toward the other man. "Are you okay? Karen said... uh, that she saw you, though somewhat after the fact."

That had been an interesting conversation, though Matt had been aware of the news coverage as well.

He doesn't like the thought of Karen with Frank. The two of them together feel like a powder keg. Between Frank's willingness to kill and Karen's proclivity for handguns, he's not sure how that would work.

"Yeah." Frank doesn't say anything for a moment, then adds, "I'm good, or as good as it gets."

Considering Frank, that could imply things that Matt doesn't want to think too hard about.

"You?"

That gives Matt a moment's pause. Frank Castle, asking about his well-being?

Just how bad does he look?

"Eh," he replies. "Work's good. Life is... life."

That earns him another not-quite-laugh from Frank. "Genius, Red."

Matt just nods, still not sure what is happening. Just then, his phone announces, “Brett. Brett,” and he reaches for it, for once seeing it as a reprieve rather than an annoyance. Being around Frank Castle makes him think about what he could be, what he could _do_ , if he lost that last little bit of control.

Brett's voice sounds as if he has already been up for hours, though it's still fairly early in the day.

"I hope you got something from those kids, because there's more blood on the statue."

"What?" Matt can't keep the surprise from his voice. "When?"

"It was reported early this morning. We're testing it, but unless the killer kept the blood from the previous victim, it has to be someone else." There's a pause from the other end of the line, then Brett asks, " _Did_ you get anything from the kids?"

Matt hesitates over his answer. Did he? "I'm not sure yet," he demurs. Still, he feels a growing suspicion, one that he desperately hopes isn't true.

"Well, figure it out," Brett replies, clearly too tired for tact. "Because they also found a dead dog at the foot of the statue, one of the blind kids' guide dogs. The kid found it."

The phone goes silent and Matt closes his eyes, as if that would undo what he had just heard. "Shit," he whispers.

"Red?"

Castle.

"It was about a case," Matt replies, fairly sure that Frank was going to ask about it. "Somebody's been putting blood on a statue of Mary at a school for blind kids."

"Huh. I'm guessing you're not just talking about some random person named Mary."

"No."

"Well, then, that seems right up your alley."

Matt shrugs. He's already wishing he'd asked which kid, which dog. But Bart didn't have a dog, so it couldn't have been his.

Not that Matt would want that to happen to any kid, particularly one who has gone through as much as Bart clearly has, but he almost wishes it had been Bart's dog. After all, the kid wouldn't kill his own dog, right? Some other kid's dog, though, Matt isn't so sure.

He’d never hit that point, not even when he’d reached his lowest. But that time after Stick had left...

"... going on?" Frank asks, and Matt pulls his attention back to the conversation. "It's got to be more than a prank."

"Yeah, the first time the blood was from a former teacher," Matt explains. "But maybe this time it's from the dog."

If it's from the dog, as sick as that would be, at least it's not from another person.

Frank, though, sounds tense as he replies, "A dog?" His heart rate has increased as well. Not a good sign.

"Ah, yeah. Brett - Detective Mahoney -" Frank makes a noise that suggests familiarity with the detective. "He said the dog was found dead at the foot of the statue. It was one of the blind kids' dogs."

"A guide dog?" Frank demands. "Somebody killed a fucking _guide dog_?"

"Frank -"

"No. There's nothing that justifies that, and don't give me your bullshit about second chances. Come on, we’re going."

"We - as in you and me? Frank, I don't think that's a good idea."

"You're right."

He is?

Frank continues, "I'll catch up with you later. Go find out what's going on. I'll get ready."

That doesn't sound ominous at all.

Frank turns and leaves, and everything, from the scrape of his shoe on the pavement to his sharp exhalation to the pounding of his feet, sounds angry.

"Stay out of this," he calls after Frank.

The lack of response is not exactly encouraging.

Matt starts to go after him, but then his phone announces, "Maggie. Maggie."

"Are you coming?" Maggie asks, before he can manage more than a greeting.

"What?"

Maggie sighs. "I'm sorry. I thought the detective would have called you first. There's been another incident at the school."

"No, he did. But why did he call _you_?" Realizing how that must sound, Matt adds, "Sorry."

"Elise wants me to come talk with her." Perhaps guessing at Matt's incomprehension, Maggie adds, "Because of losing her dog."

"It was Elise's dog? Aw, the poor kid. Detective Mahoney said she found it. The dog."

"Yes." Maggie has on what must be a Nun Voice, all quiet compassion. "She is, understandably, upset. Since we had a pleasant conversation at lunch yesterday, Ms. Martinez suggested that I could come talk with her, and she apparently liked the suggestion."

"Yeah, no, it's a good idea. I'll meet you there, okay?" The church, after all, is not on the way to the school from Midland Circle. Matt is relieved when Maggie agrees and ends the call, rather than questioning his location.

Matt brushes his hand against the wall once more, then turns to leave. He tells himself that he won't be back next Saturday, but he knows that he probably will be.

* * *

It takes Matt a little longer than it should to get to Saint Lucy's, as he decides that it will be worth the extra time to stop for a coffee. This is a situation that can only be helped by caffeine.

There is the typical flurry of cops and support staff, and Matt takes a moment to try to get his bearings, though he turns as he hears footsteps approaching.

"Murdock." Brett steps closer, as if he's going to take Matt's arm to guide him through the throng. Matt sidesteps and manages to resist the urge to - accidentally, of course - hit Brett's shins with his cane. Instead, he moves into a less-crowded hallway and Brett follows.

"Have the lab results come back on the blood?"

"Not yet." Brett sounds even more grim than he had on the phone. "But we found the victim. The school nurse. She was dead in her office. Same MO as the teacher who died.

"Mrs. Callahan?"

Brett fumbles with something, the rustle of paper too-loud in the closeness of the hallway. "No. A, uh, Mrs. Jackson. Been working here for three years. Nice lady, by all accounts."

Matt feels a twist of guilty relief that it's not Mrs. Callahan, who had been no-nonsense but still kind.

"Detective?"

Brett sighs, but Matt recognizes the panic in Alex Martinez's voice and calls, "Over here." He steps out of the hallway, and Brett follows; Alex soon finds them.

"Thank goodness. It's Bart."

Matt feels his heart clench. For all that he doesn’t really know the kid, he still feels a kinship with him.

Brett asks, "What about him?"

"Well, he's gone. Nobody remembers him being at breakfast, though that's not unusual for Bart; he's more likely to take a granola bar and leave. But we just did a head count, and he's gone."

"Are you sure he's not... in his room or something? Or the library? There's this nook in the back where the sighted people can't spot you unless they're in it, too. Well, if you haven't rearranged it."

"He's nowhere in the school. We would have found him."

Matt listens hard for the wheeze of Bart's breathing, but doesn't hear it. The noise of the crowd, all the bodies, it all becomes overwhelming, despite Matt's attempts to focus. "I'll just step outside. Maybe he's there." After he goes outside and catches his breath, he'll find Maggie. Maybe she'll be done talking with Elise and can help look.

Closing the door behind him helps, but he still can't hear Bart. "Bart?" he tries, first quietly and then a little louder.

Bart doesn't respond, but a figure comes out of the bodega down the street. "You a cop? Oh, you're blind, right? You can't be a cop. Unless you're just carrying the cane."

"I'm not a cop," Matt agrees, as he extends a hand. "Matthew Murdock."

"Jack Murdock's boy?" Matt nods, and the man continues, "I'm Mr. Lee. I used to watch your dad at Fogwell's, back in the day. He was a good fighter. Always got back up."

Matt smiles, though a little wryly. "He was the best."

"You're looking for Bart? Little blind kid with the headphones?" Matt nods again, and Mr. Lee continues, "Sometimes he takes stuff from my shop. If it was a lot, I'd say something, but..."

He doesn't finish the sentence, but Matt infers the ending from his tone: he wouldn't want to rat out a poor blind kid.

"Yeah, Bart's gone. Everything's a little loud in there. I thought he might have come outside."

"He did," Mr. Lee confirms. "He went after the van."

"What van?"

"The Irish guy, he got in the van, took the nun with him. I think the kid heard something, because he took off after that van like the devil was chasing him." He snorts, a short, derisive sound. "Guess he wasn't as blind as I thought. Pretty fast, too."

Matt's brain whites out for a moment. "The nun?" he manages.

"Little white lady. I don't think she wanted to go with the Irish guy." He hesitates, and his heartbeat does a thing that says _anxiety_ before he adds, "I would have said something at the school, but there were all those cops, and I've got, ah, some out-of-state cigarettes in the back."

Matt takes a deep breath, trying to focus, not even worrying about any cigarette-smuggling that might be going on in the bodega. "Irish guy?"

"Kitchen Irish. He's got the tattoo." Mr. Lee makes another derisive sound, adding, "Thought the Punisher killed them all, but I guess he missed one. Too bad."

Matt nods numbly, unable to get past Maggie being taken. "Thank you, Mr. Lee. I'm going to see if I can track down the van. Did you get a license plate number?"

"Sorry, no. But it was white, one of those Fords. Hold up, though." The man disappears into the bodega and returns after a moment with a set of headphones. "The kid left these behind."

"Thanks." Matt tucks the headphones in the inside pocket of his jacket. "I'll make sure he gets them."

He turns and makes his way down the street, hearing the bodega's door creak closed. Pulling out his phone, he tries to focus. "Karen, I need a favor, and I need you not to ask any questions. I'll explain later, but now there's no time."

Karen's response on the other end of the line is a startled affirmative.

"I need to find Frank Castle."

* * *

Matt makes the call as soon as his apartment door closes behind him. His phone on speaker, he pulls off his clothes, exchanging them for his Daredevil attire. The phone continues to ring, and then Frank finally picks up. "What?"

"Where are the Irish hiding out these days?"

"What do you mean, Red? Kitchen Irish? They're gone."

Matt pauses in rummaging through his trunk. "Well, you must have missed one."

"I don't miss."

"No, the guy that runs the bodega near Saint Lucy's saw a guy with the tattoo."

Frank scoffs, "Anybody can get the tattoo, Red."

"But they don't. Not around here. Even though the Irish aren't around any more, people still remember."

"I'm telling you, Red, any Irish that were around, I put them down. Even when they tried to hide."

"Well, maybe he wasn't around. Hang on." Matt puts the call on hold and places another. "Karen, can you use your contacts to see if there's a member of the Kitchen Irish who was gone when Frank, ah, did his thing? Someone who came back to town recently, maybe? And has access to or maybe stole a white Ford van."

There is a significant pause from the other end of the line, and Matt prods, "Karen?"

"I was writing it down. Yeah, I'll see what I can do." Another pause, and then Karen asks, "Am I allowed to ask questions yet?"

"Sorry, no. Karen, it's important."

"Okay, Matt. And thanks."

"What?"

"For asking. For wanting help."

Is that what he was doing? Maybe. But it's for Maggie. Not for him. "Oh. You're welcome. Thanks. Call me if you find anything, okay?"

"Yeah."

Matt switches the call back to Frank. "Karen's looking for whoever this guy is."

Sounding exasperated, Frank replies, "Red, what does it matter if some guy in a bodega saw somebody he thinks was in the Irish?”

"Because that guy, whoever he is, took somebody. A... friend of mine."

"You said you talked to Karen, so it's not her." Frank sounds relieved, but he presses, "Nelson?"

"No. It's Maggie. She's a nun from Saint Agnes. I've known her -" Technically, all his life. "- since I was a kid."

"A nun? Huh. I guess that makes sense. We meeting up at the school?"

"What? No. We're not meeting up anywhere. You're not getting involved."

Frank makes a short, dry sound, not quite a laugh. "You shouldn't have called me, Red. Shouldn't have told me about the dog. I'm involved, whether you want me or not. Better to work _with_ me, yeah?"

No. Matt doesn't want to work with Frank. The likelihood of things going sideways increases exponentially if Frank is involved. But if Frank is insisting on involving himself, working with him does give Matt a better chance of controlling the situation.

"Not at the school. There are cops everywhere." He gives an address, an alley near the Irish's former stomping grounds, and Frank acknowledges it before ending the call.

Matt finishes gearing up, takes a breath, then pulls the mask over his head. It doesn't change any of his sensory input, but the mask puts a little pressure on his face. It feels not exactly comfortable, but comforting, like climbing under a pile of blankets. Matt tries not to revel in the sensation as he makes his way to the roof.

He needs to focus.

* * *

Frank is already waiting when Matt reaches the alley. Matt listens, but Frank's heartbeat, slow and steady, makes it hard for him to hear anything that might suggest weaponry. There's another sound that distracts Matt briefly, something familiar, but it stops and Matt turns his attention back to Frank.

"You have a gun?"

Frank scoffs, "What do you think, Red?"

So that's a yes.

"Look, Frank -"

"Ground rules," Frank interrupts. "That's what you were going to say, yeah? No killing? You do what you want, Red. Don't kill this guy, even though you don't know what he's done, what he's going to do. And I'll do what works for me."

"Frank -"

"No." Frank's voice is rough, harsh. "You're the one who came to me. You know who I am. You know what I do. Maybe you want this guy dead, just don't want to do it yourself."

"No," Matt protests, but really, this guy took Maggie. If it's a choice between saving Maggie and killing the man who took her... well, Matt doesn't want to make that choice.

Maybe Frank is right. Maybe, subconsciously, Matt does want him here, just in case this guy needs killing.

Maybe it’s not even subconscious.

If Frank kills this man because Matt brought him here, is that on Matt?

He exhales a sigh, but doesn't argue further, trying to focus on Maggie. Let Frank make of it what he will.

"I'm hoping Karen gets back to us soon," he says. "She's supposed to be tracking down the guy who took Maggie.”

 _And then there’s Bart_ , he reminds himself. Bart went after the guy, and could be getting into all kinds of trouble, and wouldn’t that be great?

There's a rustle behind him and then a metallic _click_ , and Matt is on the source of the noise in a flash, pinning the person to the side of the building with one hand and pulling the other back to -.

" _RED_."

Matt realizes that the reason he can't punch is that Frank is holding his arm back in a vise-like grip that will no doubt leave a mark.

Well, what's another bruise?

Matt understands why when he finally makes out the small shape of the figure before him, feels the trembling under his hand, hears the wheeze of his breath, the quivering voice asking, "Mr. Murdock?"

"Bart?"

The kid has already eeled out of his grip before the guilt crashes down upon him. He had been about to hit a _child_. Even with his suspicions about Bart, that still was unacceptable.

Hearing the kid put Frank between himself and Matt doesn't help.

"Bart, I'm sorry. I -"

"Shut up."

Had he been like that as a child, so cold, so coiled with anger?

Well, probably.

"What the hell, Red? You know this kid?"

Matt nods. "Yeah. He goes to Saint Lucy's." There were other things he wanted to ask the kid, particularly about his training and about recent events at the school, but that would have to wait until Matt had dealt with more important matters. "Bart, did you follow a van here?"

"I lost it." Bart's reply is sullen, as if he doesn't like admitting his failure.

"But it came this way?" Hearing Bart's affirmative sound, Matt continues, "Did you see the nun get taken?"

"See?" Frank asks. "The kid's blind."

"Yeah, well so am I." Matt turns back to Bart, trying to gentle his voice as he asks, "But you can sense things, right? That's why you wear headphones."

"The other kids at the school, sometimes they all talk at once and it's just..." Bart makes a small, pained sound, and Matt steps past Frank to press the headphones into Bart's hands.

There's a quiet mutter from Bart that might be "thanks."

"So, wait, the kid is like you?"

"No!" is Bart's immediate response, overlapping with Matt's "Maybe."

Matt hears a small chuckle from Frank, and bites back a sigh. "What?"

"If you could see each other. You have the same look on your faces. Pissed off at the world."

"Well, the world sucks," mutters Bart.

Matt doesn't exactly disagree, but he needs to redirect the conversation. "Back to the nun, okay?"

"Why do you care so much about that nun?" Bart asks, all adolescent disdain. "Unless..." Matt could hear the horrified realization in the kid's voice. "Is she your girlfriend? Are you having sex with a nun? Okay, you’re going to hell. And she sounds _old_ , too. _Ew_."

Matt tries to keep back his own horror at the very thought. "No. She's - shut up." He rounds on Frank, who obviously finds this all too amusing. "It's not funny."

Frank took a deep breath, perhaps trying to regain control of himself. "No, it's funny."

"You don't get this worked up over somebody who's just a friend," Bart persists, still sounding utterly disgusted.

"Yeah, Red." Frank is still laughing at him.

"She's my mother, okay?" The words escape before Matt realizes it, and there is little he wouldn't give to take them back.

Frank stops laughing.

"Your mom's a _nun_?" Now Bart sounds somewhere between amused and impressed. "She cheated on God? Your _dad_ is going to hell."

"Enough, kid." Frank has placed himself between Matt and Bart, but it's not necessary.

Matt won't hit a kid. Ever.

No matter how much the kid provokes him.

"You need to keep this to yourself," he says, not sure if he's addressing Frank or the kid, or both. "Now. Bart. What happened with the nun?"

"You mean your _mom_?"

"Kid," Frank reproves, pulling on a Dad Voice.

"Okay, okay. Everything was awful at Saint Lucy's. I'd been hiding, but I had to get outside. I heard your - the nun coming toward the front steps, and then the van came down the street."

"Just driving by?" Matt asks.

"Yeah. I think..." The boy gulps a breath, then clears his throat. "I think he killed those people. Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. DeLuca."

Well.

Matt hadn't thought that the kid had killed them. Not really. But he’s pretty sure that Bart has been trained by Stick, and he knows what it does to a kid when Stick leaves, what sort of behavior that could inspire. So he’s glad of the kid’s theory. Almost. Except that this theory means that Maggie has been taken by a killer.

"Why do you think so?" Frank has on a different Dad Voice now, the _it's okay to tell, nobody's going to get mad_ voice.

Bart's reply is so quiet that Matt has to listen, really listen to hear it. "I could smell the blood on him. Why did he do it?" he adds, a cry of protest. "Why did he kill them? And Buster! Buster wouldn't ever hurt anybody, and Elise loves - loved him."

"Elise?" Frank echoes, and there's something in his voice that catches at Matt's attention, a low note that hints at danger.

"Uh, one of the girls at school."

"The girl whose dog was killed?" Frank asks.

"Buster," Bart confirms. "I don't want a dog, but if I had one, I'd want one like Buster. Elise was crying so much; that was why I had to get out of the school. I could hear her, no matter where I went."

Frank sucks in a breath, and Matt hurries to ask, "The guy in the van, what happened?"

"The nun asked what he was doing near the school," Bart replies, and Matt can imagine her doing just that. "The guy stopped the van and got out to talk to her. I think he thought she was a teacher, and he kept saying it was her fault."

"What was her fault?"

"I don't know. But then he grabbed her and shoved her in the back of the van. I knew he was going to do something bad to her, so I followed the van. But I wasn't fast enough."

"You did your best, kid," Frank reassures, and Matt hears a gulping sound from Bart, a stifled sob.

"She hit him," Bart thinks to add. “I heard the smack. Sounded like she hits hard."

"Maybe it runs in the family," Frank observes, and Matt turns in his direction. He can't see it, but he knows that Frank has to be smiling.

"Okay, Bart, you've been really helpful. Can you get back to the school on your own?" Matt figures it's worth a try.

"Are you kidding? I'm not going anywhere. I came to help."

"Kid, it's not safe." Well, at least Frank is being helpful.

"Right, like living in a school where people and dogs get killed is real safe."

"Yeah, well, we're going to put an end to that," Frank says, with finality.

"And I can _help_!”

"No." Frank and Matt speak at the same moment.

It feels decidedly odd to be in such complete agreement with The Punisher.

At that moment, Matt's phone vibrates to indicate an incoming text message. Expecting to hear from Karen, he keys for it to be read out loud: "William Sullivan. Released last week, was in for first-degree manslaughter, but took a plea to get it down from murder. Surprise. Winking face. Current address in next text. Hope you will tell me what is going on soon. Face with rolling eyes. Pouting face."

"What the - what was all that?" Frank asks.

"She was using emoji," Bart explains. "At school, if we want to piss somebody off, we text a bunch of emoji. Does she know it does that?" he adds, sounding like he's turning his head back toward Matt.

"I doubt it."

There's a pause from Bart, then he offers, "Somebody with that last name used to go to my school. Liam."

"Huh," Matt replies, focusing more on the fight to come.

The text with the address comes in, and Matt listens, then nods. "It's close. Okay, Bart, get back to the school." He hesitates, then adds, "I'll come by soon and let you know what happened. And we can talk."

"Wow, I can't wait," Bart drawls. He turns to trudge down the alley, his shoes scuffing against the ground.

"Think he's really leaving?" Frank asks.

Matt shrugs. "Well, he's not here, at least. Look, Frank, can you try not to kill this guy?"

"No promises. Let's go, Red."

* * *

Matt and Frank have taken to the rooftops, and crouch on top of the building next to their target's location. And Matt _is_ thinking of him as a target, despite trying to avoid that mentality.

He hear footsteps that sound like pacing, and listens hard. "Okay, there are two of them in there. Maggie and somebody else. I guess the guy."

The target.

Frank pauses. "You call your mom _Maggie_?" Matt doesn't answer, not wanting to get into his life story at that particular moment, and Frank continues, "There's a window. I can take him out from here."

"But we don't know for sure that he's our guy," Matt argues. He does, though. Of course he does. He just doesn't want Frank to kill him without giving him a chance.

Frank scoffs, "Sure we do, Red."

Matt shakes his head. "But you might hit Maggie." Frank immediately starts to protest that of course he won't hit Maggie, but Matt talks over him. "Our first priority is her safety. Can we agree on that, at least?"

"Yeah." Frank says it with reassuring alacrity. "But once we know she's okay..."

Matt doesn't even bother to sigh. Really, though, when did he and Frank Castle become _we_?

"How do you even know she's in there?" Frank asks, through the sounds of him readying his weapon. Well, weapons, probably, knowing Frank. "I can only see the guy through the window."

"I can smell her detergent."

"Weird." There is a significant pause from Frank. "Must suck when you fall in a dumpster," he says finally.

"Yeah. Come on. Let's go."

Matt makes a running leap to the other building, though far enough from the apartment in question that the noise of his landing won't alert the people inside. He hears Frank land behind him with a muttered profanity, and then he makes his way to the fire escape, all but holding his breath as he eases his way down to the landing outside the window.

Frank hunkers down next to him, making a short exhalation that sounds frustrated.

Matt just shakes his head, listening to the conversation.

"I'm not sure how else to say it." Maggie sounds tired, her voice holding a certain strain that even the food drive with the schoolchildren hadn't inspired.

"There isn't any other way to say it, because you're _lying_." That must be William Sullivan, who sounds a little unhinged. His voice cracks on the last word, and then Matt is chilled by the sound of a gun's safety being disengaged.

He doesn't even think, but throws himself through the (regrettably, closed) window and into the apartment. He doesn't even stop to get his bearings, but plows into Sullivan, flinging him against the wall - _away_ from Maggie - and relishing the larger man's grunt of pain. He's all set for what will no doubt be a thoroughly satisfying punch, when -

"Matthew, no!"

"What?" Instinctively, he turns his head toward Maggie and thus is blindsided (so to speak) by Sullivan's left hook.

Well, what's another bruise? He could wish it wasn't on his face, though; those are harder to explain, but he can always make a _turn the other cheek_ joke. "Can I hit him now?" he demands, aggrieved.

"Uh, go ahead. Sorry."

Frank is making his way in from the fire escape, but at least he’s not laughing now. Matt remembers the gun, then, and batters it out of Sullivan's hand, kicking it away from the fire escape. Frank doesn't need more firearms, after all; he's practically a walking arsenal.

Matt doesn't waste any more time in hitting Sullivan, who is full of rather creative profanity. He still keeps himself between Frank, who is occupied by something over by Maggie, and Sullivan, just in case.

"She's okay," Frank calls, and Matt's breathing eases a little. He's not sure what he would have done if any harm had come to Maggie.

Maybe that's why he brought Frank.

Or maybe he brought Frank because he knows that having Frank there makes him more careful, less likely to take that final, irreversible step.

But, as a hard jab from Sullivan reminds him, the middle of a fight is no time for introspection. He gets to work subduing Sullivan and has nearly managed it when the door creaks, but he is too occupied with not getting punched in the face again to check.

"Stop!" It's Frank, his voice cutting through the noise.

Before Matt can figure out just what needs to be stopped, the sound of a gunshot shatters the chaos and stuns everyone into silence. Matt would blame Frank, but, no, it came from the direction of the front door, where Matt had kicked Sullivan's gun. Matt can, around the ringing in his ears, hear the sound of the gun falling to the ground, followed by a pained cry of, "Just be quiet!"

Bart.

Of course.

Matt tries to wrap his head around what the hell the kid is doing there, but, really, he shouldn't be surprised.

It's exactly what he would have done.

He puts Sullivan's distraction to good use and pins the man to the ground. And if he grinds his knee too hard in Sullivan's back, oh well.

He shouldn't have taken Matt's mother.

Usually, he thinks of her as Maggie, but when she is in danger, she becomes his mother. Funny.

"Kid, you all right?" Frank calls, his voice surprisingly gentle, considering the circumstances.

"Yeah." The kid's voice is shaking, though. "Um. Did I shoot anybody? I smell blood."

"Nah, we're all okay. Do me a favor, kid, and bring me that gun?"

Matt, though occupied by the struggling Sullivan, still hears Bart doing as Frank asks, and Frank speaking reassuringly to him before raising his voice.

"Red, you can bring that guy over here." There's a pause. "I won't shoot him. Not right now, at least."

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Matt does as Frank suggests. He feels his back twinge as he wrestles the struggling man over to Frank, who, from the sound of it, manhandles him onto a chair and keeps him there via some zip ties.

Sullivan curses at Frank, who probably pulled the zip ties pretty tight.

Good.

"M-Maggie?" Matt asks, and suddenly she is there, one hand brushing against his shirt.

"You've got some glass stuck in you," she says, the quiver in her voice putting the lie to her calm tone. "We'll have to deal with that later."

Well, that explains the pain, which Matt hadn't registered until that exact moment.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course." Her voice sounds steadier now, though her heartbeat is still a little too fast.

He accepts it as the truth, or at least as the lie that Maggie wants him to hear, though he imagines that there will be future conversations about the day's events. Grimacing, Matt turns back in Bart's direction. "I thought I told you to go back to the school."

"Like I have to do what you say."

Frank coughs back a laugh, but, surprisingly, it is Sullivan who speaks. "You go to that school, Saint Lucy's? You need to go somewhere else. It's not safe there." He pauses, then adds, "Who gave a blind kid a gun?"

Bart achieves a rather impressive level of sarcasm as he drawls, "You think my school isn't safe? Yeah, somebody keeps killing my teachers."

"My boy died there first," Sullivan protests, his voice cracking. "They killed him!"

Matt feels Frank go very still.

Bart retorts, "That doesn't mean you kill people _back_ , and they didn't kill him, anyway. He just died."

"They _did_." Sullivan strains at the zip ties with a throaty growl, and then Matt hears Maggie move to put herself between Bart and Sullivan.

"All right. We don't need to have this argument right now. Can you get back to the school on your own, or do you want me to come with you?" Maggie's tone is no-nonsense, and Matt appreciates it. Maybe Bart will listen to her.

"I can do it," Bart replies, his voice gone sullen.

"For real, this time," Matt cautions.

"I will, now that I know she's okay."

Miraculously, Matt believes him, and his heart softens a little at Bart's motivation, though he's still a little suspicious. "I'll come by soon, okay, Bart? We can talk about, ah, everything."

"Gee, I’m so excited." Matt hears the snick of the door closing behind Bart and makes a mental note to find out how Bart had gotten _in_ the apartment. He listens for the fading sound of Bart's breathing.

"He's gone."

"He's got a good heart," Maggie observes.

Matt isn't entirely sure that he agrees, but he lets it go, instead turning his attention back to Sullivan. The man grunts as he strains against the zip ties, insisting wildly, "It's that school that killed my boy."

"Your boy." Miraculously, Matt's brain finds the name Bart mentioned. "Liam?"

"Liam," Sullivan agrees. "He's dead because of that school."

"But they didn't kill him," Matt insists. There are sick people in the world, people who kill children; Matt knows this. But they are not at Saint Lucy's.

"What happened at the school?" Maggie asks.

"Does it even matter?" That's Frank. "He was in jail for murder, Karen said, and now he's killed again. Right?" There's the sound of the chair jolting, a cry of pain from Sullivan.

"Look, whoever you are," Maggie begins.

"... Pete."

"Pete, we don't know that he killed those people at the school -"

"No, I killed them. And I put their blood on the statue." Some of the wildness leaves Sullivan's voice as he adds, "I thought that would make them close the school."

There is a very quiet sigh from Maggie.

Matt suggests, "Maggie, do you want to make sure Bart got back to Saint Lucy's okay? Ah, Pete and I can handle this."

There's a significant pause, and then Maggie asks delicately, "Handle?"

Before Frank can get started on his speech about putting people down, Matt just says, "Handle, yeah. It'll be fine. Please, can you check on Bart?"

Maggie sighs once more, and then Matt feels her hand resting lightly on his arm. "Come by the church when you're done, and try not to bleed all over the place."

Matt murmurs something reassuring and listens for Maggie's departure.

"Come on, Red," Frank urges. "This guy killed at least three people and a _dog_."

"But he could still find..."

"What? Redemption?" Frank's tone makes it a profanity. If we don't take care of this now, he'll just kill more people. And that'll be on you, Red."

"No, I won't." Perhaps Sullivan is starting to catch on to the gravity of his situation. "I swear, I won't. I didn't mean to kill the dog. And the people, I was just upset about my boy. Brigid didn't tell me that he was dead until I got out. I just found out."

"And you feel okay with it now?" Frank asks.

Matt hears the danger in his tone, though clearly Sullivan doesn't, as he says airily, "Yeah, man, I'm all better."

The chair scrapes against the floor and there's another pained grunt from Sullivan.

"You're either lying or you never really cared about your kid at all," Frank mutters. "If you did, you would never be okay. Not about that. Not ever."

Matt, hearing the uptick in Frank's heartbeat, thrusts himself between Frank and Sullivan, grunting as the impact of Frank's fist makes his ribs creak.

Sullivan makes a startled noise as Matt shoves Frank back. He doesn't move as far as Matt would have thought; Frank's solidity always surprises him.

"You want to kill this guy?" Matt demands.

"Yeah."

"This guy who just found out that his son is dead?"

"Red, it's not the same."

"How is it not the same?"

There is a pause. "They killed my family. Just because his kid died at the school doesn't mean they killed him. The kid said they didn't."

"Yeah, like some blind kid is the best judge of what happened," Sullivan retorts. The chair creaks as he leans back, apparently giving up on trying to break the zip ties.

Matt turns to face Sullivan. "You have a problem with blind people."

"... no. No way."

"Good." Back to Frank, he says, "Look, this guy just found out his kid died. Maybe he's struggling."

"I am!"

"Shut up. Come on." He almost uses Frank's name but catches himself at the last moment. "You know what this is like."

There is a significant pause from Frank. "You saying I'm like this guy, Red?"

"No. I'm not." Matt answers without hesitation. "But his situation, don't you feel a little, I don't know, sympathy for the guy?"

Matt feels a hand on his arm, but Frank isn't taking it to guide him but rather pushing him away from Sullivan. "What do you want me to say here?" Frank says, his voice just above a whisper but full of intensity. "Yeah, it sucks that the guy's kid died, but he shouldn't have killed the people at the school. Or the dog."

Knowing it's a bad idea, Matt asks, "So most people, upon suffering a loss like that, don't go out and kill the people they hold responsible?"

Later, Matt tells himself that he let Frank hit him, that he deserved it for speaking as he did, but really? Frank is _fast_ , and Matt is knocked back before he realizes what hit him. Frank moves in after him, pressing him against the wall.

"That's not the same and you know it," Frank rasps, but Matt can't register the words, as the closeness is suddenly _too much_ , the weight of a building coming down, Elektra slipping away from him again and he strikes back hard, once, twice, more than he can count until Frank backs off and then Matt just rocks back against the wall, trying to remember how to breathe.

Frank mutters words that sound like apology and profanity all rolled into one. "This is stupid," he declares, and Matt hears the sound of him racking the slide on his gun.

Before he can protest, before he can even push off from the wall, he hears the warning blip of a police siren in the street. "Come on. Look, there's no time. We have to go. You shoot that gun and they'll find us."

Frank sounds annoyed as he follows Matt back out the window and onto the fire escape; they both ignore Sullivan's faint protest.

"This isn't over, Red," Frank says, once they're safely away.

"Yeah."

"Now go see your mom," Frank adds, sounding exasperated. "You're bleeding."

"I'm fine."

"Whatever."

Matt wants to say more, to urge compassion, but Frank is gone before he can form the words.


	4. Sullivan

Frank Castle moves away from the apartment, though he wants to turn back and finish things. He's pretty sure that Red wasn't the one to call the cops - how could he? - so the timing was probably just shitty luck. But Frank doesn't want to tangle with the cops.

The school isn't far, as these things go, and he finds himself heading in that direction without making a conscious decision to do so. He doesn't go to the front; there are still too many cops. Instead, he makes his way around back, not really even sure what he's doing. There's a little courtyard there, surrounded by a low wall that's useless as far as security goes.

Maybe the teachers eat lunch there when the weather is nice, trying to find a moment of peace. Just now, though, the table is occupied by one little girl.

Frank eases away, wanting to leave before he startles her, but she straightens and wipes her eyes under her sunglasses. "Who are you?" she demands, sounding quivery but still defiant.

"It's okay," Frank reassures. "I'm gonna go."

"Who _are_ you?" the girl repeats, a note of challenge in her voice.

His girl had been like that, ready to take on the world. Frank shoves the thought away. "Pete," he answers. "What are you doing out here by yourself?"

"I'm sad, and people keep _talking_ to me."

Frank can't help but smile at her aggrieved tone. "And now I'm talking to you, too." He doesn't sit, but he does lean against the wall.

She shrugs. "You're not saying, oh, it'll be okay, Elise. It _won't_." Her voice breaks on the last word, and Frank reminds himself that this is not his girl. It's not his place to comfort her. She must be the girl Bart had mentioned, though: the one whose dog had been killed.

He eases a little closer, and can't help but ask, "What's wrong?"

"Everything!" The girl - Elise - makes a sound halfway between a hiccup and a sob. "Mrs. Jackson is dead, and so is Buster." It all seems to overwhelm Elise, and she hides her face in the crook of her arm. She’s got pink, glittery nail polish, and Frank’s breath catches in his throat at the sudden flash of memory: a small hand gripping his.

"I'm sorry."

The words aren’t enough, but he can’t think of anything better to say.

"Why?" she asks, her voice muffled. "You don't know them."

"I'm sorry you're sad," Frank explains. Already knowing it's a mistake, he suggests, "Tell me about Buster."

Elise lifts her head, then fixes her sunglasses, which had gone crooked. "He was the best dog," she says. "He liked to put his head on my knee. When he wasn't working, if I sit on the couch, he always tries to fit in my lap, even though he's too big." She seems to realize that she is talking in the present tense, and chokes back another sob. "Or he was."

"He sounds like a good dog." Frank can't look at her, so he turns and studies the sidewalk, the road, anything else. He can feel the muscles in his jaw, gone tight with anger for that piece of filth, Sullivan.

"He was the best. I think he tried to stop the guy who killed Mrs. Jackson."

"I'll bet you're right." He manages to keep his voice gentle, somehow.

"I... I found him. He wasn't there when I woke up, and he's _always_ there, so I went looking for him. He was at the bottom of the statue. Pete, do you think he's in heaven now?"

Frank, as a rule, doesn't think much about heaven. This question, though, he answers without thinking. "Absolutely. Anybody who tells you different is wrong."

He risks a glance at Elise and sees that she is smiling, at least a little. But then the creak of the school's back door catches his attention. This, he decides, is not the best time to be a stranger hanging around this particular school. He's already up and heading away when he hears someone calling for Elise.

She probably could have been friends with his girl, his Lisa, in another life.

Frank turns back the way he had come. He needs to finish it before Red calls the cops to pick up Sullivan.

_One batch, two batch..._

* * *

Matt makes it back to the church before Maggie does, and settles in to wait. Of course, he could take care of everything himself, as the damage isn't too bad this time, but it makes her feel better to be able to help. And the church is quiet, and familiar, and _safe_ , or at least it feels safe.

Nowhere is safe, though, really. Father Lantom learned that.

Matt hasn't thought about Father Lantom in a while. The memories are still painful, but the pain is a little distant: a half-healed wound, likely to pull if he turns too quickly, but not something that will kill him.

He should call the police, as the car that inspired his departure was probably just a patrol car, not likely to find Sullivan, but he doesn't really find himself motivated to hurry.

Sullivan can't escape the zip ties, and it won't kill him to sit there while Matt just takes a moment to breathe. Maggie will be there soon. He can call afterward. He'll sit there and just be, for once.

Fortunately, because Maggie would never let him forget it if he had done otherwise, he realizes that it's Maggie's hand on his arm before he does something he'll regret. "Just closed my eyes for a minute," he says, fairly certain it was true. The adrenaline of the fight has faded, leaving him tired, yes, but not that tired.

Maggie makes a small sound of disbelief. "Well, I took a while at the school, so maybe your eyes have been closed for longer than you think. Bart got back all right, and then I spoke with Elise. Can you get your shirt off?"

Matt can and does, though he fights back a groan.

"You were impressive today," Maggie says, her tone brisk. "Very _Die Hard_ , you crashing through the window like that."

"You've seen _Die Hard_?"

"Of course I've seen _Die Hard_. It's my favorite Christmas movie."

Matt can't help but laugh, a good distraction as Maggie gets to work repairing the damage that he has done to himself. "You and the other nuns watch it every December?"

"You'd be surprised what we do. It's not all prayers and charity work. After all, nuns _are_ regular people." She pauses to do something that most definitely involves some sort of antiseptic, judging by the sharp scent and the sudden burning sensation in his chest. "At least, you _think_ they are."

"You caught that, huh?" Matt asks, sucking in a breath as Maggie swabs deeper.

"Hold still," Maggie chides, her voice holding a certain tart _don't be a baby_ tone about it. "Yes. I did." For a moment, he thinks that she is honestly upset, and starts formulating an apology, but then Maggie chuckles. "It did entertain the children, and that Elise. Such a personality, the poor child."

Matt seizes on the topic as a distraction from Maggie's ministrations, though he takes a moment to reflect that the mending so often hurt worse than the injury itself. "You got a chance to talk with her?"

"Yes. She seemed sad, of course, but she told me she knew that Buster was in heaven. Seemed quite certain."

"Did you, ah...?"

"What, tell her she was wrong? Of course not, Matthew." Matt hears the rustle as Maggie takes up the bandages, and then she explains, "First, that would be a cruel thing to say to a child who just lost a pet. And we also have no proof either way. After all, Pope Paul VI said, 'One day we will see our pets in the eternity of Christ.'"

"Well, if a Pope said it, that's good enough for me."

Maggie chuckles quietly and presses Matt's shirt into his hands. "There, all finished. Hopefully, you can get home without damaging yourself any more."

"I'll do my best. Thanks."

Matt pulls on his shirt and gets up to go, but Maggie catches at his hand. "No, thank _you_ , Matthew. For coming after me."

"I... of course. I mean, what else could I do? You're..."

His voice trails off, and Maggie cuts in, before the awkward silence gets worse, "Yes. Well. Thank you." She leans in and hugs him, fiercely tight but quick enough that it is over before he can do more than blink. "Try not to pop your stitches."

Matt nods. As he makes his way home, he smiles, remembering the feel of her arms around him. It isn't until he gets home that he remembers to call the police.

* * *

The next day after Mass, Matt returns to the school, albeit with some reluctance. The conversation with Bart isn't likely to go well, prickly as the boy is, but it's necessary.

Saint Lucy's has an air of emptiness about it, possibly because it's Sunday, and so the day students aren't there. He asks for Bart and is directed to the library. Matt pauses at the door, then heads for the alcove at the back, led by the faint wheeze of Bart's breathing.

"Bart?" he asks, keeping his voice quiet. "Can I come in there with you?"

There is a grunt from the alcove, which Matt takes as a yes. "I always liked it in here, when I was at Saint Lucy's."

"Good for you," Bart replies, his tone sour. "You shouldn't have made me leave yesterday. And then you shouldn't have sent your mommy to make sure I did it."

"Because you were so reliable before?" Matt asks. He's annoyed, and he no doubt sounds it. "Look, we had to deal with Sullivan, and that was easier with you gone."

"Did you kill him?" Bart's breathing is coming a little faster.

"No."

"Weak."

Despite his scornful tone, Bart's breathing eases.

"Did Stick tell you that? That it's weak not to finish your opponent?"

"Duh."

"How did he find you? And how long did he... he trained you, right?"

Bart exhales a sigh, but most people wouldn't have heard it. "The teachers took us to the park around the corner, and I guess he was there. I had my headphones on, and my glasses, but I could still..." He makes a vague sound of annoyance, then asked, "Can you do it, too? Stick said you could. He..." His voice falters then, and Matt hears the rustle of fabric as Bart turns away.

"Yeah," Matt replies. "Look, Bart, about Stick. He had an agenda. He wasn't here to help you. He didn't -"

"He didn't care about me, no shit."

Matt winces away from the raw pain in Bart's voice. "I didn't say that. He probably did care about you. He could get attached. But he -"

"He stopped coming," Bart interrupts. "Didn't call or text or anything. He just didn't show up anymore. He doesn't care about me."

Matt realizes that Bart is still talking about Stick in the present tense, that the kid doesn't _know_ , and Matt wishes that he was anywhere else but in this room, with this angry child. "Bart, I'm sorry."

"Why?" Bart asks, outright hostile. "He doesn't care about you, either."

Matt hears him moving, preparing to leave, and protests, "Bart, wait." The kid brushes past him, ignoring him, and Matt reacts instinctively, using his full strength to grab him.

Bart reacts like a wild thing, kicking and flailing, and then apparently focuses, as the fight becomes serious. He manages to elbow Matt in the face - another bruise to explain on Monday - and Matt eases off to a light grip. "You can't keep running away from things, Bart."

Bart inhales a quivery breath, relaxing a little, perhaps as Matt doesn't pose an immediate threat. "It doesn't matter what I do. He's not coming back."

"No."

Bart begins some sort of lament about Stick hating him, and the words escape Matt: "He's dead."

Bart goes still, though Matt can hear the stutter of his heart. "What? H-how?"

In a flash, Matt remembers the sound of Elektra's blade piercing Stick, the soft noise the old man made, and then the impact of Elektra's kick sending him back, away. "It was quick," he says.

It's almost the truth.

"Somebody killed him," Bart asserts, his tone gone flat. "Stick wouldn't just die. _Who_?"

Matt recognizes that hunger for revenge, having felt it himself. "She's dead. You can't kill her."

"You're lying," Bart sneers. "I can hear your heartbeat."

Matt inhales a deep, calming breath. "Because I don't want it to be true." Deep down, he still believes that she’s alive somewhere, that he’ll come into his apartment some evening and find her there, full of sweet mockery.

"You want to kill her?" Bart asked, seeming to thaw a little.

"Some days I did, yeah," Matt agrees. He hears the wistfulness in his voice and clears his throat. "So he didn't just... stop showing up, Bart."

"Good," Bart breathes. He seems to realize how that sounds, as he adds quickly, "Not good that he's dead, I mean."

"No, I got it." Matt finally releases Bart, who flops into a chair. "But even if he had just stopped coming, it's not your fault."

"He wouldn't have left," Bart says, all confidence now.

Matt decides not to disabuse him of that notion, and the kid continues, "There's so much I don't know." There's a pause, a dangerous space of time in which Matt can practically hear the wheels turning in the kid's head. "But he taught _you_ right?"

"Yes, but -"

"You could teach me!"

"Bart, I -"

"Come on, it'll be -" Bart hesitates over his wording there, perhaps realizing that _fun_ is not the right choice, and finally concludes, "There's so much I need to learn."

Matt hears his younger self inform Stick, all confidence, _I'll learn how, just like you._

"Bart, I don't know if I'm the right person for this."

"Who is, then? I mean, seriously. Who else is there? _Are_ there more people in the world like us?"

"Before I met Stick, I thought I was the only one," Matt admits. "And now you. How did it happen, how did you...?"

He can hear Bart shift in his chair. "There was an accident," he says, his voice gone stiff.

He doesn't want to talk about it. Fine. Ms. Martinez had mentioned that his parents had died. It's probably a sore subject.

"Yeah," he says. "Me, too."

There's a moment of silence, a lull in the conversation. Matt is remembering the truck, how it felt to push the man out of the way, and then the way his vision had faded. Maybe Bart is thinking of his own accident, as his voice is tentative as he asks, "Did it hurt?"

"Yeah," Matt repeats. "Yeah, it did."

"Me, too. We're… I guess we're the same. So you could teach me." Matt hesitates, and the kid wheedles, "Come on. With great power comes great -"

"Bart. I'm not Spider-Man."

"Hey, I don't know what you're talking about. I was quoting the _Bible_. You like that, right?"

Matt couldn't help but smile. "Yeah."

There was a pause from Bart, then a slight uptick in his heartbeat. "Will you help me, Mr. Murdock? Please?"

Phrased like that, how can he say no? And he finds himself liking this prickly, angry child, despite himself. "I will," he says, getting to his feet.

Bart scrambles to follow, sounding startled as he asks, "Right now?"

"Nah. Now I'm going to see if Ms. Martinez will let you go out for ice cream. You like vanilla?"

Matt can't see it, but he thinks Bart is smiling as he answers, "Yeah."

* * *

Matt's phone announces, “Brett. Brett,” as he and Bart are leaving the ice cream shop with their cones.

"Sorry," he says to Bart, before answering, "Murdock."

"It's Brett Mahoney. Just wanted to let you know that we found the killer."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. We had an anonymous tip, and then we found him dead in his apartment, zip-tied to a chair."

Matt stumbles to a halt as Brett continues, "They found a squirt gun with traces of blood in it, which explains how he got it on the statue, I guess, but he wasn't killed with any squirt gun. Single GSW to the head. It looked like it could have been a sniper shot, which makes no sense."

"Oh?" Matt repeats, though he's thinking, _Frank Fucking Castle_. "Uh. Why not?"

"Well, as previously mentioned, the guy was zip-tied to a chair, which is not usually a sniper's tactic. And the window was completely shattered, and a neighbor mentioned having heard it earlier today, too early to have happened when Sullivan was shot. They also heard a gunshot around the same time, and we found a bullet lodged in the window frame. So somebody breaks in his place, ties him to a chair, shoots a gun from the area of the door and then leaves, but then somebody - maybe somebody else - kills him? And that’s not even mentioning whoever called it in."

"So you're investigating the man's death?"

There is a significant pause from Brett. "Just because he killed people doesn't mean he didn't have rights. _Counselor_."

"Right. Yes. Of course. It's just, with being around the kids, it's hard."

There is a quiet sigh from the other end of the line. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. Look, I just wanted to let you know. And thanks for trying to help. I appreciate it."

"Any time, Detective."

Matt slowly replaces the phone in his breast pocket, and the Bart asks, "Liam's dad is dead?"

Matt clears his throat. "You put that together? Yeah."

Bart speaks with careful patience, a small space between each of his words that implies just what an idiot he thinks Matt is. "I listened to your phone call."

Ah. Of course. If he's going to have anything more to do with this kid, which apparently he is, Matt is going to have to get used to that.

Bart continues, "Did your friend kill him? Or, well, I guess he's your friend. The one who kept calling you Red."

"I don't know. Look, finish up your ice cream, okay? We need to get you back to school."

Bart sighs, but there is acquiescence in the sound. "You going to go talk to him?"

"I don't know," Matt repeats, taking one final bite of his ice cream and then tossing the rest.

Bart makes a small, skeptical sound. "You should bring your _mom_."

* * *

For a moment, Matt considers it. Frank obviously won't listen to him, but maybe Maggie and her nun powers could stun Frank into submission or something.

Probably not, though, and Matt decides he doesn't want to involve Maggie, anyway. It could lead to too many questions. He's honestly surprised that she hadn't asked more while she was pulling the glass out of his chest, but maybe that was gratitude for rescuing her.

Like he would have done anything else.

No, Matt decides to go it alone and sighs as he makes his way to Frank's place. It takes a solid minute of pounding before Frank answers the door with a surly, "What the fuck? How did you know where to find me?" Matt doesn’t answer, and Frank sighs. “Karen. I’m gonna have to have a word with her about that.”

"Were you asleep?" Matt asks, as Frank sounds rather groggy. "Frank, it's nearly afternoon."

"A time when some people sleep," Frank counters. He starts to close the door, but Matt shoves his foot in the crack.

"Frank -"

"Go away. I know why you're here, and I don't want to hear it."

"So you did, you really -" Matt becomes aware that the hallway outside Frank's apartment is probably not the best place to have this conversation. "Let me in."

"Look, Red, we're never going to agree on this."

"But I thought we had! We left, and he was still..." Alive.

"Yeah, and then I went to the school and talked to the little girl whose dog he killed." Frank makes an inarticulate sound of frustration, and then, before Matt can even react, opens the door and pulls Matt into the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

There's a moment of quiet in the aftermath of the door closing. Matt exhales a sharp breath and moves away from Frank. "You went to the school? Why?"

"I don't know," Frank replies, his voice stiff. "But I had this little girl asking me if her dog was in heaven. What the hell was I supposed to do, Red?"

"Tell her the dog's in heaven. You don't want to argue theology with a grieving kid, trust me on this one. And then you go home."

"Of course I told her the dog was in heaven," Frank replies irritably. "I'm not an asshole."

"So you go and kill a guy who just found out his kid died."

"Of the flu," Frank says, his voice gone hard.

"What?"

"Yeah. I had Karen find out. So this guy's kid dies of the flu, and he goes and kills the lady who was his kid's main teacher, and then the school nurse. How is that right?"

"It's not," Matt replies, trying to find the right amount of calm in his voice to talk Frank down.

"I'm not that guy," Frank adds, his voice low and intense. "I killed people, sure, and I'd do it again, but they were people who needed to be put down, not an ex-teacher - Karen said she quit because she was upset about the kid dying - and a nurse."

"Okay, Frank. Listen -"

" _No_. There's nothing you can say that will make me think I did the wrong thing."

"Okay."

There is a pause in which Matt imagines Frank waiting for him to argue, so Matt adds, "I think you're wrong, but I'm not going to change your mind."

"No," Frank agrees. After another pause, he adds, with a touch of wry amusement, "That's never stopped you from trying before."

"Look, just so you know, Brett Mahoney is looking into Sullivan's death."

"Okay."

"He's a good guy, a good cop."

"I know."

"You do? How?"

Frank chuckles. "Things do happen in this city that don't involve you, believe it or not." Matt inclines his head in acknowledgment, with a rueful smile, and then Frank asks, "Hey, you want a beer?"

Matt tries to think of what time it is, then decides he doesn't care. Not with the week he's had. "Yeah. Thanks."

"There's a chair at your two, about three feet. Take a load off, Red."

Matt finds the chair and eases into it, absently rubbing his back with one hand.

He and Frank will never agree on giving people a second chance. He knows that. But there is, deep down, a small part of himself that maybe agrees with Frank.

After all, Sullivan took his mother.

He's just glad that his wasn't the hand that took the guy's life.


	5. Mary watches

This is the right thing to do. Matt is almost positive.

And even if he's completely doubting himself, it's too late now, anyway. Phone calls have been made. People are waiting.

It's happening. He's going to have breakfast with Maggie.

And his friends.

Whom she will meet.

As his mother.

He's still not sure this is a great idea. Karen will ask questions and Foggy will be enthusiastic. And while, really, there is little Matt loves more than an enthusiastic Foggy, he does have concerns about the questions.

They'll wonder why he didn't tell them.

After all, they're his best friends, and she's his mom.

It's huge.

He's trying, though. He's trying to be more open about things. Well, except for that afternoon right after the Sullivan incident when Foggy asked him what had happened, and Matt had hemmed and hawed like an idiot until Foggy got that stiff tone in his voice and said never mind.

Never mind.

So. Openness and honesty. Great idea. Matt makes his way to the diner, breathing slowly and trying not to overthink everything, with limited success.

"Matt, we're over here," Karen calls as the door jangles open.

Matt summons a smile and wends his way in the proper direction.

He's told Maggie a slightly later time to meet, in an attempt to avoid the awkwardness of her arriving before him.

He's pretty sure there will be enough awkwardness later, after all.

"Good morning, Karen, Foggy," Matt greets. "Thanks for meeting me here."

"Yeah, because it's been so long since we've seen each other," Foggy teases. "This is all really mysterious. What's up?"

The server comes over then to get his drink order, and Matt decides on coffee, despite the desire for something a little stronger. "Actually, there's something I wanted to tell you."

The door jangles again, and Matt hears Karen's sharp intake of breath just as he smells Maggie's detergent.

She's early. Of course, she's early. What, is aggressive punctuality one of the evangelical counsels, along with poverty, chastity, and obedience?

"Well, I was hoping to tell you before she got here, but I guess that's not going to happen."

"What?" Foggy asks, still sounding too chipper for the relatively early hour. "Who?"

"Me, I assume," Maggie says, as she reaches the table.

Matt gets to his feet, feeling suddenly clumsy. He assumes that Maggie's hand on his arm is supposed to be reassuring, and he grasps it as an anchor to the world. "Ah, yes. Maggie, this is Karen and Foggy. They're my partners at work, and my best friends." He takes a breath as something in an _aw, shucks_ comes from Foggy, though Karen is unusually silent, and her heart is beating a little fast. Why? "Guys, this is Maggie. My mother."

The sound of a coffee cup hitting the table comes from Foggy's general direction, along with a muttered curse and a scramble for napkins. "What? Matt, that's - wow! Okay. Nice to meet you. That's amazing. Wait. What? Are you a - is she a nun? Oh my God. Shit. Sorry. I just, wow." Under his breath, though of course Matt can still hear, Foggy mutters, "That explains so much."

"Nice to meet you," Maggie says, her amusement obvious even to a blind guy.

Karen clears her throat, then says, "Of course. Yeah." There is something about her tone that makes Matt suspicious; he'll have to ask her about it later.

"Here, sit down," Matt says, fitting action to words. Maggie's chair scrapes as she does the same, and Matt adds, "I haven't always known. About Maggie, I mean. I just found out not too long ago."

"Wow." Foggy still sounds stunned. "That's great. How did you find out, one of those 23 and me things? One of Theo's friends did that, and she found out her dad wasn't actually related to her. Awkward. Kind of like your situation, but backwards."

Matt, despite the fact that he would _really_ love to hear Maggie's answer, replies, "It just came up. It was, uh, not long before Father Lantom died."

There. Let them think that Father Lantom told him. It's certainly easier than the truth.

But so much for that openness and honesty thing. Still, he's making progress.

"Well, however it came up, I'm glad it did," Foggy enthuses. "I'm so glad to meet you, Sister, uh, ma'am..."

"Maggie will do," Maggie replies.

"Maggie," Foggy agrees. "Little weird to call a nun by her first name, but okay."

"We're regular people, too," Maggie says, and Matt can _feel_ her smirk.

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Absolutely not."

Matt shakes his head with a rueful smile, and is not at all sad when the arrival of their drinks puts an end to Foggy's questioning about what they meant. Maggie's drink order given, they all settle back for a moment in the bustle of the diner.

"So, Maggie, how long have you been a nun?" Foggy asks, all cordiality.

Matt has a brief, intensely homicidal thought about his best friend, and bites back on a sigh.

Maggie gives the time period, and Foggy protests, "But that's how old Ma- I thought you couldn't be a nun if- Karen, will you stop kicking me?"

"If you'll stop asking personal questions, sure," Karen replies, sweet as pie. Matt sends a grateful smile her way, even as he tries to figure out how much she knows, and how she learned it.

"The Church knew about my situation," Maggie says, her voice careful, and Matt can feel Foggy all but vibrating with the need to ask about her situation.

Matt doesn't want the details, even now.

 _Nine blocks_ , he thinks, before shoving away that particular thought. Again. Whatever decisions his mother made, they are in the past.

The server brings Maggie's drink and takes the order for their meal. Matt orders his usual from this particular diner: eggs in purgatory.

"A little on the nose, isn't it, buddy?" Foggy asks, as has ever since he found out, before making a faint sound of dismay.

"It's okay. She knows."

"And even if I didn't, _eggs in purgatory_ would hardly have given it away," Maggie says. "Though maybe your face might have, Foggy," she adds, clearly amused.

"Hey, my face did not say that Matt is... you know," Foggy protests, though he's laughing.

"It may as well have," Karen says. "Foggy, do you play poker? If not, I'd love to teach you. I think you'd be a natural."

Foggy snorts and Karen laughs, and all of a sudden everything is fine, at least for the moment. Matt exhales a soft sigh, and Maggie's fingers press against his forearm once more.

"Thank you for introducing me to your friends," she murmurs, as Karen guilelessly informs Foggy that, yes, it _is_ a good hand when you get two of the same card.

"I thought it was time," Matt replies, his voice pitched just for Maggie, and she gives his arm another squeeze before easing away.

"So Matt," Karen says, her voice still holding the echoes of laughter, "I saw a sign on a church and it made me think of you. It said, 'Walk by faith, not by sight.'"

"Second Corinthians," Maggie murmurs.

"Chapter five, verse seven," Matt concludes. "Did you expect me not to get that one? I know all the Bible verses that could conceivably be about blindness."

"Do you, now?" Maggie teases.

"We are not going to have a... a Bible-off in the middle of a restaurant just for me to prove that," Matt replies, shaking his head.

"Maybe later," Maggie suggests, though Matt gets the impression that maybe she'll let him slide on this one. Still, he's telling the truth; he spent hours huddling over his Bible as a child, fingers searching for the words that would make his situation make sense. The nuns had praised his devotion, and encouraged him; if he was reading, he wasn't fighting.

God's Plan, he'd decided, didn't always make sense. Not at the time, at least.

"Are we supposed to interpret that literally?" Foggy asks, and there's a hint of humor as he adds, "We could all wear blindfolds."

"That sounds like an excellent way to walk into a wall," Maggie replies, and Karen laughs as Maggie adds, "We look for the meaning that the Scripture is meant to convey, which is not necessarily taking the words at face value."

"So... kind of?" Foggy asks. "Ow, Karen, no poking me, either. I'm just not used to having a nun around to ask my burning theological questions."

"You could come to church with me," Matt suggests, unable to keep back a smile. "Plenty of nuns there."

"Yeah, no. I like sleeping in on Sundays. Uh, sorry Sis - uh, Maggie.

"You could come in the evening," Maggie offers, sounding as if she finds Foggy entertaining.

"Uh, so back to that Bible verse," Foggy says. "What does it mean?"

"Maybe just... do what God wants?" Karen suggests. "Trust in him to guide you?"

"That's one interpretation," Maggie agrees.

"Better than the blindfold thing. Trust me on this one," Matt adds.

"But how do you even know what God wants?" Foggy asks. "M-Maggie how did you know you wanted to be a nun?"

There is a brief, charged silence, and Maggie says finally, "I didn't always know, not for sure."

"Oh, hey, I think our food is coming," Karen says, with a little more urgency than breakfast usually warrants.

It is, and mercifully the clatter of plates and the sorting of who gets what takes over everyone's attention, and then everyone just focuses on eating for a little while.

"Have you seen Bart lately?" Maggie asks Matt, when the initial dining ruckus has subsided.

"What?" Matt asks, feeling the weight of a drip of sauce sliding from his fork back to the plate. "Oh, yeah," he adds, as his brain catches up with the question. "Yesterday. I've been going to see him most Saturdays. The kid at Saint Lucy's," he explains to Foggy and Karen.

Bart still struggles, and Matt struggles with him, if he's perfectly honest, but spending time with the kid is better than mooning over Midland Circle.

He's not _training_ Bart, he keeps insisting on that. He doesn't want to be responsible for leading somebody down his path, especially not a kid. But Bart is nothing if not persuasive, and Matt has somehow found himself showing the kid some tricks, offering suggestions.

The kid-sized boxing gloves that he picked up last night are just _practical_.

And it's not like he's not getting anything out of it. He asked the kid how he'd gotten into Sullivan's apartment and, after Matt made it clear that he wasn't going to tell anybody, Bart busted out an impressive set of lockpicks.

Stick had provided them, of course, had used picking locks as an exercise in discipline. Bart has been teaching Matt how to do it.

They don’t talk about Stick, though.

"... should bring him by the office sometime," Foggy is saying, and Matt jerks his attention back to the present.

"Because that's where every kid wants to go, a law office?" Matt jokes. "Maybe sometime," he relents, then, knowing that Foggy is trying. "But, uh, he's not always a nice kid, just so you know."

"One of the moody, emo types?" Karen asks, and Matt shrugs.

"Kind of. He's angry sometimes. Not without reason, though. He's had a tough life."

"Is he Catholic?" Foggy asks. "Uh, not that I'm implying anything," he adds, the change in sound quality suggesting that he turned his head toward Maggie.

"He just really sounds like Matthew, doesn't he?" Maggie asks, and Foggy exhales in obvious relief, murmuring his agreement.

"He's not Catholic," Matt says, trying not to sound aggrieved. "And he's not like me."

"Angry, moody, emo, blind?" Karen says, drawing out the words in such a way that Matt can hear her smile.

"He thinks God is a dick; he's definitely not Catholic."

"Those two things aren't mutually exclusive, though," Maggie says, her voice soft. "One can be a Catholic and still, on occasion, think that God is a dick."

Foggy laughs, a short startled sound. "I never in my life thought I'd hear a nun say the word _dick_ , let alone call God one. And I laughed. I'm going to hell."

It strikes Matt as funny, and he laughs, with Karen joining in, and then Maggie. That moment, laughing with his friends and his mother, lingers in his mind for years to come, a memory he draws upon when times are at their hardest.

* * *

Brett Mahoney reaches for the door to Saint Lucy's School, but then recoils when it opens before he can even grasp the handle.

"Matthew Murdock," he greets, upon seeing the attorney preparing to leave, accompanied by a boy whom Brett assumes to be a student due to the whole sunglasses-and-cane look that he has going on. "It's Brett Mahoney."

"Detective, hello," Murdock greets, with one of those charming smiles that Brett never entirely trusts. Foggy says that Murdock is a good guy, but Foggy still brings cigars to Brett's mother, so maybe he isn't to be trusted, either. "Hope you aren't here on business," he adds, that smile fading to a more serious expression.

"Just wrapping everything up," Brett reassures.

"So you never did figure out who killed... what was his name again?"

Brett isn't fooled by Murdock's apparent forgetfulness, but does supply, "William Sullivan. No, not yet. And who is this young man?"

"Bart," the kid replies, still half-hidden behind Murdock.

"We met when I came here for the, uh, Sullivan incident," Murdock adds. "And I'm taking him to see the law office today."

Brett can't help but grin at the kid's wrinkled nose. "Hey, it's better than school, right?"

"School's over for the day," Bart mutters.

"Ask Mr. Murdock's partner if he's got any candy," Brett suggests, nodding as the kid brightens. "I'll bet he's got some in his desk."

"He probably does," Murdock agrees. "We haven't had a really late night lately, so we haven't had to raid it."

"Well, I won't keep you," Brett says, shifting to hold the door open for the pair. "Nice to meet you, Bart. Try not to let these lawyers corrupt you too much, okay?"

The kid ducks his head in something that looks like a nod, and then pulls up his hood as he slides behind Murdock.

Murdock just grins at the lawyer crack, saying, "Have a pleasant evening, Detective."

Brett watches the pair leave, their canes swinging in unison, their strides matched despite the kid's shorter legs. It looks like they're already deep in conversation by the time they turn the corner, and Brett wonders what they could be discussing.

Shaking his head, Brett turns to go into the school, though he pauses to glance at the statue as he passes it, reassured by its blank face. He makes his way to the principal's office and knocks lightly, though the door is open and Ms. Martinez is seated at her desk.

"Detective, come in," she greets, with a smile. "I'd offer you a coffee, but I'm sure it's awful this late in the day."

"Don't worry about it," Brett reassures, moving to sit when Ms. Martinez indicates the chair. "How is everything going here?"

"As well as can be expected," Ms. Martinez replies. "The kids still have their moments, but they're resilient."

"Well, I'm just sorry we didn't catch the guy before he killed Mrs. Jackson," Brett says, his expression grim. And he _is_ sorry, but this case was a weird one, and he really doesn't think they could have put it all together in time to save the nurse.

"I'm sure you did all you could," Ms. Martinez says. "Did you find anything about who killed Liam's father?"

 _Liam's father_. The guy killed two of her staff, and that's how she thinks of him. Brett doesn't really get that, but he shakes his head as he replies, "I hate having to admit this, but no. This one really doesn't make any sense. But Sullivan, he wasn't a great guy. Maybe he'd made some enemies."

"Well, whoever did it, I'm just glad that the school is safe again."

"We'll keep you posted if we learn anything more, but I'm not sure that we will." Ms. Martinez nods, then Brett thinks to add, "I saw one of your students leaving the school with Matthew Murdock, the lawyer I'd asked to come to speak to the kids."

Ms. Martinez beams. Clearly, Murdock has snowed her with his charming smiles. "Oh, Matt is so good with him. Bart has had such a hard time of it, and he really seems to have taken to Matt."

"Okay, so you knew they were leaving the school together?"

Ms. Martinez nods, still all smiles. "They do that fairly regularly. I think Matt is even teaching Bart about boxing. I know, I know, odd for a blind person, but Matt's father _was_ Battlin' Jack Murdock, so I suppose it's in his blood, boxing."

Brett smiles. "I guess you're right. Murdock just doesn't seem like the Big Brother sort of guy."

"Now don't you say anything to scare him off, Detective," Ms. Martinez chides, and Brett suddenly flashes back to the principal's office of his middle school.

Not that he was ever summoned there. Really. And if he ever was, it had all been Foggy Nelson's fault for sure.

"Of course I won't," he replies, pulling on his version of Murdock's charming smile. It doesn't work as well, he knows, but Ms. Martinez seems to thaw a little. "I'm glad they've, uh, connected. Probably good for both of them." Ms. Martinez nods, now all smiles, and Brett gets to his feet. "I'll get out of your hair now, ma'am."

"Oh, you're no bother. Come by any time, Detective." She stands as well and walks him out, and they both pause by the statue. "Some of the parents are talking about a fundraiser to have her removed in, you know, a respectful and appropriate way."

"First time I've ever heard of a fundraiser to get rid of a statue, but I can't say as I blame them. You have a good night, now, Ms. Martinez."

"You, too, Detective."

As Brett strides down the school's steps, he frowns a little more over the case. There's something about it that doesn't sit quite right with him. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he walks down the sidewalk.

William Sullivan, recently released from prison for murder, had learned that his son and namesake had died as a result of the flu he had contracted at Saint Lucy's, and had blamed the school. He'd killed the boy's former teacher, who had retired, and then, for reasons that completely escaped Brett, had squirted her blood on a statue of Mary, mother of God, using a freaking Super Soaker. And then he'd come back and done it again, killing a guide dog in the process.

Brett lets the thoughts percolate as he walks down the street, shaking his head a little at the Italian flag hanging in front of one of the apartments. He doesn't get these white people's obsession with nationality. Hell, half the Kitchen Irish has probably never set foot in Ireland, but who knows? Maybe those folks are from Italy; maybe their family is. All Brett knows about his heritage is that his people came to New York from somewhere in Africa, via North Carolina.

Brett comes to a halt. Sullivan. That's an Irish name. He pulls his hands from his pockets and makes a quick phone call. "Yeah, the Sullivan case, can you look something up for me? Any gang affiliation?" He waits for the reply, and when he hears it, lets out a profanity that gets him an outraged look from the maybe-Italian granny in the window.

"William Sullivan was in the Kitchen Irish? And nobody thought to bring this up?"

Brett ends the call and sighs. There's somebody he knows who has a reason to dislike the Irish, and who has recently returned to New York, and who certainly has the skills to make the kind of shot that took out William Sullivan.

Son of a bitch.

Castle. Frank Castle. As soon as he thinks it, Brett knows he's right.

He doesn't know where Castle is hanging his hat these days, but he knows who does.

He'll find out, and then he'll get some answers.

* * *

Frank groans at the pounding in his door. If it's Red waking him up again, he'll... he'll tell the nun. Maybe she can make him be more polite.

Frank reaches for his gun until he hears, "NYPD. Open up... Pete." He eases the gun out of sight and makes sure nothing else is in the open.

That voice, Frank knows it. It's Mahoney. Shit, did Karen tell _him_ where Frank lives, too? Or maybe it was Madani. He seriously considers going out the back and then remembers that the super still hasn't done anything about the busted fire escape. It's probably five different kinds of violation, but it's also why the rent's so cheap.

Frank doesn't want a roommate, so he keeps his mouth shut and pays the cheap rent.

The pounding continues, and Frank gets up to open the door before his neighbors get too jumpy. "Mahoney," he greets.

"Castle. I've got some questions for you."

Well, he should have expected it. Red warned him, and he knows Mahoney is a good cop. He nods and eases open the door, letting Mahoney into the apartment. He closes the door and then turns to face Mahoney.

"Where were you on the fifth, around noon?"

The day Sullivan was killed. Frank hesitates. "Mahoney, just... think about whether you really want me to answer that." Mahoney's head drops and he looks hard at the floor. Frank can see the struggle on his face and adds, "You don't owe me anything."

"I'd be dead if it wasn't for you." Mahoney still doesn't look up, doesn't look at him. "Castle, he had a wife."

Frank shrugs. "So did I, once. And when I... do what I do, I have good reason."

Mahoney sighs, a long, heavy sound. "I know you think you do, Castle." He eases into Frank's chair and finally looks up. "What's your reason this time? Without officially acknowledging what happened."

Frank hesitates. Does he really want to get into this, particularly with Mahoney? "What does it matter _why_?"

Mahoney shakes his head. "Madani, she seems to think you have some sort of, I don't know, code. I want to see if she's right."

"Can I just say yes and have that be the end of it?" Mahoney didn't answer, so Frank sits on the edge of the bed, the only other seat. "Did you know about the guide dog, that Sullivan killed him?"

Mahoney nods. "You did what you did over a dog?"

"No. Yes. I don't know. Look, the little girl, Elise."

Mahoney frowns, leaning forward in the chair. "How do you know about her? How do you know about the dog, for that matter? I just thought you'd heard that a member of the Irish had been released from prison and you wanted to take care of him."

Frank isn't going to lie: the fact that Sullivan had been in the Irish was a nice bonus. As for how he knew, he just shrugs. "I have my sources."

"So Karen Page," Mahoney says, his voice dry.

Frank shrugs. It's true, if not the entire truth, and he doesn't want to bring up Red. Mahoney knows him, Frank thinks, and the world doesn't need to know who Red is.

Still, Mahoney says, "I guess Murdock told her. I asked him to talk to the kids at Saint Lucy's."

Frank smiles a little at the thought. "Bet that went over like a house on fire."

"Well, I guess it was unnecessary anyway." He looks meaningfully at Frank, then adds, "What about the girl?"

"That asshole killed her dog, her _guide dog_ , and she had nail polish on her fingernails."

"Nail polish? Why... what does that have to do with anything?"

"She reminded me of my kid, that's all," Frank says, trying to make it clear that this is all he's going to say on the subject.

He remembers, though.

* * *

That last night, Lisa wanted him to read a story and he said, no, that he was too tired. The distance between them, between him and Maria, him and Frank Junior, he couldn't figure out how to bridge it. Half of him was still gone, still _there_.

The next morning, while Maria was making breakfast, Lisa sat next to him in the living room. She had sparkly pink nail polish, with flower stickers on each finger, and he smiled and told her he liked it.

"I can do yours," she offered. "It's okay if you're tired. You can just sit there."

So he nodded and asked if he could have pink like hers, and she giggled and shook her head.

"Black," she decided, and ran from the room to get her nail polish. He let his eyes close while she was gone and tried to make himself acknowledge that he was really home and this was happening.

He tried not to startle when she took his hand, but he must have, because she said, "It's okay, Daddy."

He opened his eyes and nodded and smiled. "I'm fine, Lise."

"Just close your eyes," she said, and he nodded and did so, the smell of the nail polish sharp over the sizzling bacon. He just sat there, feeling her hands move his, but then she ran away once more.

He glanced at his fingers.

Well, most of the polish had stayed on his fingernails. She'd done a better job than he would have.

She ran back, a bottle of white polish in one hand. "I'm almost done," she said, with that smile that always went right to his heart and wrapped him around her little finger.

"Looks great, sweetheart," he said, the endearment feeling rough with disuse. "Why the white?"

Lisa extended her hand. "I'm gonna put a skull on your thumb since you're tough."

"Not a flower, like yours?" he asked, mostly teasing, but she shook her head and took his hand once more, the tip of her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth in her concentration.

"There! All done."

"It looks great."

And it did. The lines blurred, but Frank could tell what it was. His little girl had done it, and he loved it.

The awful events of that terrible day scraped some of the polish from his nails, leaving it battered. It wore down and chipped, and Frank felt it looked more him that way. Finally, only the skull on his thumb remained, and that was the first thing he saw when he woke up in the hospital, numb in the certainty that his family was gone.

* * *

"Castle!"

Frank startles back to the present to find Mahoney looking at him with annoyance and maybe even a little concern. "Look, it doesn't matter why I did what I did. What matters is what you're gonna do."

Mahoney’s grim expression makes him uneasy. He knows where his guns are, and can easily reach one from where he's sitting. He isn't going to use them on a cop, though, particularly not this one.

"I don't know," Mahoney replies, his voice heavy. "I owe you."

"That's not why I got you out of that ambulance, so you would owe me. Just do what you gotta do, Mahoney."

Mahoney shakes his head. "Can you clear out of the city for a while? I don't want to bring you in. Can't you go back wherever it was you were?"

"Michigan. Yeah, I guess." Maybe he'll look up Beth. "It can't be permanent though, Mahoney. This city, it's my home." He knows he could never be gone for too long from the place where his family died.

Mahoney gets to his feet. His right arm twitches as if he is going to offer his hand. "Sullivan was a piece of shit, but you've got to stop taking the law into your own hands like that."

Frank opens the door and gave Mahoney a level look. "You do what you gotta do; so do I."

Mahoney nods but does not look reassured as he leaves.

* * *

That afternoon, his bag in the passenger side of his truck, Frank pulls into the parking lot of Saint Lucy's school and gets out. He makes his way up to the doors and tries to open one, but it's locked.

An older-looking woman comes to the door and says, "Can I help you?"

Feeling a little foolish, Frank asks, "Can I see the statue?"

He doesn't even know why he wants to see it. After all, Sullivan is dead. That's over.

The woman looks a little irritated but opens the door. "It wasn't really crying blood, you know," she says as she leads him across the atrium. "It was a hoax."

"I know. I just want to see it."

Frank peers up at the statue. It's, well, a statue. He leans closer as he catches sight of a metallic glint on the statue's base, near the robe, and the woman makes a soft, sad noise. "We've had some losses lately. Go ahead, if you like."

Frank pulls it out and sees that it's a dog collar, the name BUSTER engraved on the tag.

He turns the collar over in his hands and then replaces it. "I'm sorry for your loss, ma'am. Thank you for letting me see."

The woman nods and escorts him back to the door. Turning back, he sees her looking at the statue, and she seems in that moment a little older, a little more sad.

Frank told the truth: he's sorry for the deaths at the school.

But he's not sorry for what he did.

Frank gets back in his truck with no regrets.

And back in the school, Mary watches.


End file.
